Dreadful Beauty
by alwaysaclaw11
Summary: Harry Potter returns to the 1940s to find the first horcrux and kill Tom Riddle. What he finds is not the Dark Lord he expected but a complex, troubled and broken young man whose pull Harry can't resist. "There is more beauty in truth, even if it is dreadful beauty."
1. Time Turner

"Are you sure this a good idea, Harry?" asked Hermione, her shimmery wet eyes peering from underneath her mane of bushy hair.

Harry stared at the time turner hanging from his neck. "I'm sure it isn't, Hermione."

She stepped closer, pleading. "Then don't do it."

"What other choice do I have?"

Hermione took his hands in hers. "There is always another choice."

"Not this time."

She licked her lips and stared at the ground. After a painful pause she said, "You remember how to use the time turner?"

"Hermione-"

Her grip tightened on Harry's hands so he couldn't feel his fingers. "Remember you can't just kill him. He's already made a horcrux."

"The diary." Harry swallowed as the nerves were finally catching up to him.

"You need to find the diary, destroy it and then... _kill_ Riddle." A tiny tear painted a red streak down Hermione's face. Her voice cracked. "Harry you can't do this. You're not an assassin!"

"I won't let more people die because I'm not willing to do what is necessary." Harry tore away from his best friend's touch.

"This isn't right. It doesn't _feel_ right."

"It's not _right._ Or good. It's just what has to be done. Does Voldemort deserve to live more than Sirius, or Cedric, more than my mum and dad?" Harry's fingernails scratched against the brick wall of King's Cross station, unable to look at Hermione as anger rose inside him.

"No, Harry, of course not! That's not what I mean."

Harry's face softened as he turned to look back at his friend. "I know what you mean. Dumbledore is gone. This is our only chance."

"Nothing like this has ever been attempted. So many things could go wrong!" Her voice was high, shrill – a sound that usually bothered him. Tonight he just found it comfortably familiar.

Harry twisted a curl of Hermione's hair around his finger. "Things can't get much worse than they already are."

"Isn't that what people say right before things get worse?" Hermione grimaced. He shared her fears. But this was their best shot.

Harry crushed Hermione into a hug, holding her thin frame against him, breathing in the scent of ink and parchment that lingered with her. "Thanks Hermione. I wouldn't make it a day without you."

With a few more tears slipping from her eyes, Hermione slipped from his grasp. "Good luck," she whispered.

**A/N: Whenever I end a fic, I start a new one. I've had part of this written for a while so I should be able to update regularly. Sorry Tom isn't in this chapter, but he'll be in the next one. Please review. Thanks for reading. P.S. This will get pretty mature as it goes along. Just a warning :)  
**


	2. Slytherin

Harry arrived in 1940s London, in a dark corner of King's Cross Station with his first goal in mind.

_Infiltrate Slytherin_

He and Hermione had worked on a backstory and she'd done the research and forged documents for him that Hogwarts would have to take seriously. If anyone ever found out what he was doing, it would be catastrophic. Certainly, he'd be killed if young Voldemort discovered him, but even the Ministry would not take kindly to the meddling Harry was doing in time.

He remembered Hermione's voice in his head when they'd first dreamed up this plan.

_The consequences are severe, Harry. This could end in a life sentence in Azkaban – for both us._

Harry swallowed his fear and forged ahead toward Platform 9 ¾. Hermione had made one trip to the past before him where she'd up his forged documents and planned to have all things sent to Hogwarts for school rather than take them with him on the Hogwarts Express.

With conviction and determination, Harry Potter set off for Hogwarts...

It was strange being in the Headmaster's Office when it did not belong to Dumbledore. Especially so soon after his death. A pang of anger and sadness punched Harry in the chest. He bit back his emotions and forced himself to to look at the portly headmaster who had a striking resemblance to future Minister Cornelius Fudge.

"We received correspondence from the Australian Ministry of Magic. You will be attending school at Hogwarts that year, is that correct?" asked Professor Dippet as he paced, hands locked behind his back.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor Dippet."

"Good. Your paperwork is all in order it looks like, Mr. Potter. Now we'll just have a private sorting to see which one of our four houses suits your personality most." He reached for the sorting hat which was on a high shelf. "Don't be nervous."

Dippet placed the hat securely on Harry's head. With a strange shiver, the hat began to speak in Harry's mind.

"Interesting... very interesting... you remind me of... you're brave, loyal, but also cunning and you have... devious plans..."

The way the hat said devious plans sent shivers down his spine.

Harry knew exactly what to do as he responded to the hat in his mind."Slytherin. Put me in Slytherin."

"I'm the Sorting hat, I decide," the enchanted hat said curtly.

"It's my choice, isn't it? At the end of the day? I know it is. And I choose Slytherin." Even though fear wracked through him, Harry tried to sound forceful.

There was a long pause before the hat spoke.

"As you wish. I sense you will do very well there. Slytherin!" it shouted.

Dippet smiled and then called out the door. "Mr. Riddle, will you enter."

Harry bit his lip, as he felt anger and hatred rise in his veins like fiery blood.

"Yes, Professor?" replied a steady, iced voice. Riddle stepped into the room, his uniform clinging tightly to his lithe frame. The green of his tie bringing out the swirling blue of his irises. His hair was slightly curled, falling down over his forehead. Harry clinched his fists, his eyes locked on the man who would become Voldemort. The man who'd kill his parents and destroy his life. Still there was something so young about him, even though he'd already made a horcrux.

They had considered going back before the first horcrux was made, but Hermione said there was something magically accessible about this year. That traveling to this particular time would be the safest. So here he was - and so was Tom Riddle.

"This is Harry Potter. He's a sixth year. He'll be in your house. Would you please show him to the dormitories and answer any questions he might have?" Dippet clasped Riddle on the shoulder.

"With pleasure, sir." His smile was convincing but Harry knew better. Trying not to shake Harry followed Riddle outside the office. At that moment he was very glad he had learned occlumency from Hermione. He could feel the shield around him like a secure wall keeping him safe from Riddle.

"Are you related to the Gryffindor Sam Potter?" Riddle asked with a harsh tone.

Harry swallowed. He'd known this could be a problem but it seemed worse to invent a name he'd surely slip up in using.

"I'm not sure. Potter's a common name. It's probably a coincidence." Harry brushed it off as best he could.

Riddle stopped dead, his black shoes squealing on the floor. He gazed down at Harry with a startling gaze.

"You look like him," said Riddle. "Well, Mr. Potter. I'm Tom Riddle, head boy. Pleasure to meet you. Professor Dippet said you were tutored from home until this year, is that correct?"

Harry breathed out a shaky breath, trying to keep his nerves and his anger in check. And, something else, a heavy weight between his stomach and his collarbone as his eyes traced over Riddle.

"That's right. I finally talked my parents into letting me come to an actual wizarding school for my last two years." He finally made the words of his lie come out.

"Where are you from?" asked Riddle, his tone only mildly interested. Even though Riddle was only a few inches taller than he was, he seemed to tower beside Harry. Long and lean and without a hint of insecurity.

"Australia. There's not a wizarding school there so most kids are home-tutored. Some go to Salem or Durmstrang, but I wanted to go to Hogwarts because it's-" Harry lied.

"The best wizarding school in the world." There was an almost unearthly reverence in Tom Riddle's voice.

A tall girl with a severe face and a straight back rounded the corner. A Gryffindor tie was secured around her neck right next to a shimmery gold badge. She stopped in front of them. Harry couldn't place why she looked so familiar... especially her scowl.

Riddle's posture improved slightly as he stared the girl down.

"Harry Potter – meet the Head Girl. Minerva McGonagall," he said between his teeth.

McGonagall... Minerva... sniffed. "Hey – just what we need another Snake. No offense." Her hand waved at Harry. It was strange seeing one of his favorite teachers look at him with such dislike.

"None taken," replied Harry, feeling strangely disconnected from the universe as he stood between a girl he'd only known as an old woman and his greatest enemy.

She spun on her boot, focusing her attention on Riddle again. "It's your turn to patrol the halls tonight, Riddle."

A smile slithered across his face, the kind that made him neither friendly nor terrifying. It was just magnetic, illusive.

"Of course, Minerva," he said.

In silence, Harry followed Riddle down into the dungeons. An eerie darkness seemed to pervade everything. Harry's heart pounded as the enormity of the situation and of who he walked beside crashed onto his shoulders.

Tom said the password then turned to Harry. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter and to your new home. The Slytherin Common room."

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I wonder how Harry will survive in Slytherin... please review! And thanks for all the reviews of the first chapter.**


	3. Parseltongue

Harry stepped into the Slytherin common room which looked much like it had when he and Ron snuck in disguised as Crabbe and Goyle. Burning green fires and large leather seating.

If Harry wanted to get close enough to Riddle to find the diary horcrux, he would have get the Slytherins to accept him. And it started right here with this first impression, though the anger and hate fighting inside him made politeness nearly impossible.

He would have to find away to overcome this. If Riddle and the other Slytherins didn't trust him, their plan would fail before it even got started – and Harry would return to a war, he had no idea how to win.

Standing beside Riddle, Harry took a deep breath and looked at the other Slytherins.

"Attention everyone. This is Harry Potter. He's a sixth year who will be joining us this year. Avery, Lestrange, help him out with anything he needs," Riddle's voice was authoritative and smooth.

"Yes, sir," said a tall, thin boy.

Riddle turned to Harry, leaning in close enough that Harry could breathe in the scent of charred wood and sage that lingered with Riddle.

"Though it's not spoken of much beyond these walls, you will quickly learn who is in charge. Don't worry. I am a fair master." His voice was low – and played like one hissing note over his ear.

"I don't fancy having a master," grumbled Harry.

_Stupid, _thought Harry, _control yourself._

"What did you say?" Riddle fingers gripped into his shoulder, five separate shocks of pain shooting through his body.

"Nothing," replied Harry in a quiet whisper.

"Things will go easier for you if you learn your place quickly." Riddle backed away then looked at the other Slytherin students with an icy smile and said,

"As you were."

The other students nodded and the returned to their previous activities and conversations. Harry leaned over to the tall boy and whispered.

"Intense."

"You've no idea," he breathed. "I'm Avery by the way, and that's Lestrange." He pointed to shorter boy with shaggy brown hair that fell to his shoulders.

"Follow me. We should have an extra bed in here." Lestrange stepped between Avery and Harry and ushered Harry through the crowd of Slytherins to a bedroom.

There were three other beds in the room which was at least twice the size of his one in Gryffindor tower. It was dark though, without windows. Everything was so clean and uncluttered, it seemed unreal, clinical.

"A bed, dresser, closet space for your trunk and a bookshelf," said Avery, who was tall and lean with jet black hair and bright butterbeer eyes that were pretty for a boy but Harry liked them.

"Thank you," said Harry.

"Just doing as we're told." Lestrange grabbed Avery's upper arm, his severe face in a frown.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry was looking at Avery who nodded. Lestrange gritted his teeth and glared at his friend.

"Why do you do what he, what Riddle, says?" asked Harry.

"He protects our interests," answered Lestrange.

"Besides he could snap his fingers and break our spines." Avery's lips quirked into a small smile.

"Avery. Hold your tongue," snapped Lestrange.

"Who does it serve for Harry to underestimate _him_?" asked Avery with a tone of authority that by Lestrange's raised eyebrows must have been out of character for him.

"Need anything else?" asked Lestrange.

"No. Thanks again," said Harry.

Avery smiled at Harry and Lestrange dragged Avery out of the room.

Harry's trunk was already waiting for him so he packed his things away, trying to keep his things as ordered and in place as everyone else seemed to keep theirs.

He was exhausted, sat down on the bed and fell asleep. It wasn't until the other Slytherins came in for bed that Harry even realized he had fallen asleep.

A jolt of excitement shot through Harry's body as he remembered what McGonagall had said. It was Riddle's night to patrol the halls. Maybe it wasn't the smartest plan, but no matter the color of his new tie and scarf, Harry was a Gryffindor and he didn't fancy more time in the dungeons with future Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort than absolutely necessary.

Besides, everyone was asleep and who knew when he'd get the chance to snoop around again?

As quietly a possible, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak out of the dresser, hid beneath it and slipped into the hallway. The prefects room was at the end of the hall and clearly labeled on the door.

Holding his breath, Harry cast alohamora on the locked door. It didn't work. He jiggled the handle again and it felt looser, but not unlocked so he tried alohamora again. The door may have just been stuck so Harry grasped the handle with both hands and tugged. Hard.

The invisibility cloak slipped from his shoulders. Harry whirled around to pick it back up and swallowed a scream.

Riddle glared at him, arms crossed over his chest, that familiar bone-colored wand in his hand. His deep blue eyes flashed like a storm-battered ocean in the dim lights.

"Potter." His voice was ice. "Why are you trying to get into my room?"

Harry had no answer – not a lie, at least, so he just spat out the truth.

"I didn't think you'd be here."

Riddle's handsome face fell and Harry shuddered as Voldemort's unrestrained cruelty flickered in his attractive features.

"Wrong answer," he hissed, grabbing Harry's arm so hard it would bruise.

"If you want to see it so badly, Potter. Let me show you," Riddle whispered in his ears, fear pulsed in his veins, but something else, something _other _made his legs and hands go numb

Riddle snaked his arm around Harry to grab the door handle, whispering that fluid secret language that belonged to them both, though Riddle did not know Harry spoke it too.

The door clicked open.

Riddle shoved Harry into the dark space where he could see nothing and all he could hear was the sound of Riddle's parseltongue and door locking behind them.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favorites and follows. What's going to happen to Harry now that he's locked in a bedroom with Tom Riddle?**


	4. Favor

Harry's heart pounded furiously, wild and cut loose in his chest. He couldn't breathe. His whole body tensed with fear and with hate for his worst enemy whose hands were on his skin, cold and hot at the same time.

How could he have been so stupid? So impetuous? He'd wanted Hermione to come with him and this was exactly why. She would have told him to wait, to have patience, to think. But that just wasn't Harry. He was always rushing into dangerous circumstances without thinking. How many times had he been caught in the hall by Snape? Or chased down Filch when he just couldn't manage to follow the rules?

If only Hermione... but he couldn't have sent her into this kind of danger. Asked her to lie. Asked her to kill. Besides she was muggleborn and could never have gained Riddle's trust or gotten into Slytherin. Though he was failing miserably at the former.

Harry just had to calm himself, focus and get out of this situation alive.

Riddle dug his nails into Harry's arm and threw him against the wall. Pain shot through him, from the middle of his back into his head. Riddle flicked his wand and the lights in the room flashed on, revealing the slim silhouette of Harry's captor.

Harry was biting down on his tongue so hard, blood was seeping into his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from the angles and planes of Riddle's face.

Riddle's hands clasped on Harry's wrist pinning him to the wall. He was just a few inches taller than Harry, his eyes peering down, swirling and distant like one of Trewlawney's crystal balls.

"Now I'm going to give you one chance to explain yourself, Potter. Why were you trying to get in my room?"

_Think of lie and think of it quick!_

"I was going to steal something," Harry blurted. Riddle's face contorted in confusion and he let out a small huff of air.

"What?" asked Harry, still biting down on his tongue.

"I expected you to lie." Riddle grip lessened slightly and Harry used the opportunity to stand up straighter.

"I'm a thief not a liar."

Riddle dropped one of his hands, but kept the other one locked tight. He inched closer. He smelled like boiling cauldrons, like the smoky spark of a spell gone wrong. Harry held his breath.

A cold smirk appeared on his face. "You might not be liar, but you're not a very good thief either."

That's when Harry noticed the invisibility cloak sitting on the edge of Riddle's bed. He had the strongest urge to wrench himself away and try to grab it, but for once he found the self control to contain himself.

"What were you looking for?" asked Riddle, more curiosity in his voice than anger.

"Nothing particular," Harry lied. "I just thought it would be easy. I knew you were going to be out and you have your own room and I figured as _master _you'd have all the best stuff."

Riddle grabbed his chin. Harry flinched, not sure what he expected Riddle to do, but whatever he expected it wasn't this. Riddle rubbed the pad of thumb across the stubble under his bottom lip, staring thoughtfully down at his mouth. Harry felt his mouth go dry and heat flood his cheeks and ears.

"Where did you get the cloak?" Riddle pronounced every word with precision. "It's unlike others of it's kind."

"It was my father's."

Riddle's hand dropped away from Harry and he backed up several feet. The distance between them gave Harry a chance to finally breathe.

"Must be nice to have a father who can pass things down to you."

Harry let a long breath escape his lips and said, "It must be nice to have a father who's alive."

Something flickered across Riddle's face – something different than the cold, calculating reactions he's had before. Something alive. "Guess it depends on the father."

Riddle ran his fingers over the cloak and a jolt of anger shot through Harry. It was one of the few things he had from his parents and did not like the idea of their murderer touching it. Though, technically speaking, Riddle hadn't killed them yet.

_But he will. Don't forget that._

"I have an offer for you, Potter," he said smoothly. "I'll you leave here, forgive you your misdeeds in exchange for _this._" Riddle picked up the invisibility cloak.

"No!" Harry shouted, lunging forward as he reached for his wand which was gone.

Riddle flicked his wand and black vines shot out from the floor, wrapping around Harry's legs, holding him in place.

"Your reckless behavior makes me wonder why you are not in Gryffindor."

"Where's my wand?"

Riddle removed it from the pocket of his cloak. "I have your wand _and _your cloak, Potter. You've just proven to me that they're both worth something to you." His long, elegant fingers trailed down Harry's cheekbone. The touch sent fire through his body. Harry would have mistaken it for attraction had he not known it was hate. That it had to be hate.

"There are ways," said Riddle. "Of becoming invisible without the cumbersome burden of a cloak, albeit a powerful one. I do not seek the cloak rather your allegiance. You seem opposed to the idea of my leadership."

"I'm opposed to someone calling them my master." Harry knew better than to argue with Harry, but he wasn't the best liar in the world and if just pretended to believe everything Riddle wanted him to, he would be found out. Walking the line between truth and fiction seemed the safest route.

"Haven't you heard, Potter? Everyone's a slave to something," Riddle whispered as he snapped his wand again and the vines released Harry. He tumbled forward and Riddle caught his elbows, holding him up. Harry jerked away as soon as he realized who was holding him.

Looking down at his feet, Harry asked, "What are you a slave to, Riddle?"

Riddle ignored his question and said, "I have a proposition for you. I shall return your wand at the end of this discussion as a good-will gesture. As for your cloak, I will return it to you after you complete a favor for me."

"A favor? You don't even know me."

He grinned like a cat. "Precisely." Riddle was moving Harry's wand through his fingers. "You have no ties here. No friends, nothing. Just an attachment to a gift given you by your dead father."

Harry swallowed the anger building in his chest as Riddle continued,

"Someone is spreading information about me to one of the professors. Professor Albus Dumbledore."

"True stories?" asked Harry with bitterness in his voice.

"Some of them." Riddle sighed. "Mostly lies. I want you to figure out who it is. No one will suspect you're working for me. You fought my authority from the moment you stepped into the common room. Your new so no one will suspect I trust you. And you have no reason to lie. Do this for me and I will return your cloak."

Harry had to fight the desire to agree immediately. Of course he didn't want to help Riddle. But this was an opportunity to get close to him, to figure out where he was keeping the diary. And if there was a traitor in their midst then that meant Riddle was weaker than Harry thought he was.

"You'll give me my cloak back?" asked Harry, still not looking at Riddle.

Those fingers were beneath his chin again, forcing him to look in those too-blue eyes. "You have my word, Harry Potter."

He licked his lips then said, "And you have mine."

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I wanted to show how hot-headed Harry is and how that gets him into trouble. Hermione was often the one holding him back from doing crazy things and she's not around to do that. Stay tuned to see what new discoveries and strange situations Harry can get himself into while playing double agent. Please review! Thanks for the favorites and follows.**


	5. Avery

Harry sat on the edge of one of the leather sofa's in the Slytherin common. It was early morning though one could not tell for lack of windows in the dormitory. Sitting in a silence that would have been unusual in Gryffindor tower, he watched the green flames flicker in the fireplace like dozens of snake tongues. He adjusted his new uniform tie and smoothed his grey sweater.

He felt uncomfortable in the green and silver of his rival house, like the colors had the power to seep into his blood and change him. However, there was a warmth he appreciated to this common room – smoky and solitary. A perfect hideaway from the rest of the world.

Harry waited for Avery. He seemed a likely candidate for betraying Riddle simply from the way he spoke of young Voldemort – as if there was something to fear, to lose, from Riddle's darkness.

He was going to find out if Avery was the mole in Riddle's house, but he had to have the stealth he lacked when breaking into Riddle's bedroom or he'd drive the informant underground and Riddle would never trust Harry again.

A stream of Slytherins passed by him. They were talking and some of them were even laughing, though not in the boisterous way of a Gryffindor. Riddle had passed a half hour ago. He had said nothing to Harry but his eyes lingered on Harry as if he could paint his ownership on him with nothing but a gaze.

Harry's stomach jolted.. Looking down at his hands, he hoped no one would see the blush blossoming in his cheeks. It was ridiculous to have that kind of reaction over Riddle – an empty man, a man without love. But there was no denying that he was a lovely thing to look at.

Finally, Avery emerged from his dormitory and walked toward Harry. The green in the tie brought out the brightness in his eyes so they looked like Aunt Petunia's Christmas caramel. Avery ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly.

"Good morning, Potter," said Avery, providing Harry with a little too much eye contact.

Harry's heart stuttered though he didn't know why. He forced himself to look at Avery and did his best to ignore those long, fluttering lashes and pink lips. "Morning, Avery. Are you heading to breakfast?"

"Yes." Avery smiled. "Would you like to come with me?"

Harry nodded and Avery reached out his hand to help Harry from the couch. He could stand on his own; there was no reason for him to accept the hand, but he did.

His body melted at the contact. He held Avery's fingers a beat longer than he needed to then dropped them and looked away. What the _hell _was he doing? Then again, this would be one way to get Avery to trust him... and it wouldn't be the first boy he kissed, if it got that far. After kissing Cho, he knew something wasn't right with it. He thought it was just Cho – but then there was Ginny and no matter how much he cared for her, it wasn't right either.

He still remembered – he'd _always_ remember – the night at the Burrow when he was staring out the window, the weight of loneliness and confusion pressing down on him. Everyone had gone to sleep but him and Fred. He stood with Fred by the window and talked for an hour. Harry even opened up to him about Cho and Ginny. Fred just gave him that famous grin and a warm laugh then ran his hand through the mess of black hair on Harry's head.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Harry had asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the way the T-shirt clung to Fred's tall, lithe frame.

"Shh-" Fred said, then took Harry's wrists and pulled their bodies against each other. "I think I've diagnosed your affliction, Harry."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's _wrong _with you."

Fred was a few inches taller than him, about the same height as Riddle, but, unlike Riddle, he always had a laugh on his face. Still smirking, Fred leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry's.

It was like being a struck match, turning from a useless scrap of wood in a kitchen drawer to being licked with flames and able to set the world on fire.

Harry's fingers found the collar of Fred's shirt and pulled him closer. Fred let out a small, almost imperceptible growl, and kissed him back even harder. It was easy to see Fred knew what he was doing as he expertly parted Harry's lips with his own.

Harry felt hungry, starved, like that little boy in the cupboard again and Fred... Fred was treacle tart, butterbeer and a birthday cake all rolled into one.

His fingers gathered Fred's T-shirt, feeling the stiff muscles underneath Despite Harry's death grip, Fred managed to pull away slightly then bring his lips down one more time for a quick kiss.

"Better?" he asked, lips pressed to Harry's ear.

Harry paused for a long time, just frozen with his thoughts and the taste of Fred still on his tongue. Fred, who laughed, squeezed his hand and said, "See you in the morning."

When Fred was out of earshot, Harry let out a sigh. "Way better."

"Harry? You okay?" Avery's voice pulled Harry back to the present _err _the past, whatever it was.

"Sorry – just thinking."

"Let's sit down. I'm starving," said Avery.

Harry slid down beside Avery at the Slytherin table. Toast, eggs and bacon covered the table and the familiar scent made him long to be at the Gryffindor table with his friends. He grabbed a glass of orange juice and took a drink.

His focus needed to be on Avery – on finding the diary through whatever means necessary rather than allowing himself to sink into nostalgia and longing for a world that would no longer exist unless he was able to defeat Riddle now.

"Ready for your first day of school?" asked Avery, nudging Harry's leg with his.

"I think so," he replied, turning to look at Avery.

Avery grinned and it lit up his face, not with sunlight, but with moonlight. Spellbinding, mysterious. The kind of light that had the power to draw the oceans in to meet it. Avery adjusted his leg so it ran parallel with Harry's and moved slightly against him.

Heat rushed to Harry's face. He took another drink of orange juice, trying to cover his reaction.

"So, um, does every house have a Riddle, you know, someone in charge?" Harry knew the answer was no, but it seemed like a good way to get a conversation started.

"Every house has prefects but no – they don't have the kind of power that Riddle does," replied Avery whose eyes flicked to the right.

Riddle sat near a blond haired boy with pointed features and grey eyes that looked cut from the blade of a sword. His resemblance to Draco Malfoy was too strong for it to be a coincidence. Riddle eyes glanced to Harry then flashed away.

"How well do you know him?" asked Harry.

"You're very interested in Tom Riddle," said Avery, staring down at his plate.

Harry moved his leg against Avery's "Not interested. Just curious."

"Don't let your curiosity get the best of you." Avery was staring ahead, a layer of ice seemed to freeze over his words.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

Shifting away from Harry slightly, Avery replied, his voice low. "Can we not talk about this here?".

Harry scanned the room. The professors sat at the designated spot in the front of the hall. There was Slughorn who he recognized immediately for though it had been many years, he had that same walrus mustache and round belly. A few seats down from him sat an auburn haired man chatting with Professor Dippet. His beard grew only a few inches down from chin, but Harry would recognize those discerning eyes anywhere. This was Albus Dumbledore.

It felt like someone poured a thousand pebbles into his heart causing it to sink low in his chest. He stared at the smiling face of the mentor he thought he'd never see again. The one that had been taken from him. Dumbledore, even now, was at the center of a fight against Riddle – and Harry would help him.

"Tell me about the teachers," said Harry to Avery whose body relaxed at the suggestion.

"The one on the end. That's Slughorn. Head of Slytherin house. Teaches potions. A little clingy though – especially with Riddle."

"What about him? The one talking to Professor Dippet."

Avery rolled his eyes. "Oh that's Dumbledore. Head of Gryffindor house. He hates and distrusts anyone from Slytherin so stay clear of him if you can."

"That can't be true. He can't hate all Slytherins."

"He can. He does. The only time he willingly talks to one of us is if we're in detention with him."

Maybe the person giving information about Riddle was someone who often received detention from Dumbledore – a guise under which they could speak to each other.

"Does he give you detention a lot?"

Avery's hand squeezed just above Harry's knee. Harry tensed but then relaxed at the touch. It was nice, he had to admit.

"No I take my own advice, Harry." There was a laugh on his lips.

Avery's hand slid up Harry's thigh as he stood from the table.

Harry bit down on his cheek, trying to hold himself together. Avery smirked. He must have noticed Harry's reaction.

"We should go to class," said Avery. "Before we're late."

Harry nodded and stood. Once again Riddle eyes were locked on him. Cloaked, impossible to read, but clearly on Harry.

What could that mean? Just that he was watching him because of their agreement? Or maybe he was suspicious of Harry.

He attended all his classes. Some of which were with Riddle, who kept looking at him and some of which were with Avery who kept stealing touches whenever he could. Not that Harry was complaining. A relationship with Avery could bring him closer to Riddle's inner circle – one of them might know the location of the diary. And, if he was being honest, he'd been lonely for a long time.

That evening after dinner, Harry took a shower and then planned on heading to bed. Maybe talking to Avery some more, or possibly some other students like Lestrange or Malfoy.

The door to Riddle's room was cracked open. Harry could not help but peek in through the light-filled space. Riddle stood near the wall, his shirt mostly unbuttoned and he was pressing another student against the wall. He pulled the student's head back, revealing Avery's familiar golden eyes.

Harry bit back at gasp. A part of him wanted to look away but he just stepped closer. If Riddle was torturing Avery, he couldn't just let him do it?

Riddle's fingers ran across Avery's neck then down his chest. He pulled Avery's shirt off and Riddle's mouth was open and the other boy's shoulder.

His heart pounded like a hammer on a nail – a nail that snapped under the pressure. A pain in his chest, like a fist pressing into his skin. He couldn't stop watching, not now. He had to know what was happening. And what he was feeling. Was this feeling jealousy?

_And if it is... who am I jealous for?_

_Avery, of course. It has to be._

"Tell me to stop," growled Riddle as his hand locked on Avery's belt buckle. "If you want me to stop, tell me, Avery."

"No, my lord," he whimpered. "It's been so long. Don't stop."

Riddle pressed Avery hard against the wall, jarring his head to the left, toward Harry. Their eyes met. Harry registered the mix of sadness and desire in Avery's face

Harry's chest tightened. Steeling himself, he turned away. Harry hardly knew Avery, right? There was nothing be jealous about. Nothing to care about. But if he was with Riddle, why had he been flirting with Harry all day long? Was he just trying to spy on him?

That didn't make sense because it didn't fit with the look in Avery's eyes. The desperation that somehow Harry could tell was not for Riddle, but for him.

Harry could ignore Avery and focus on the others or he could stay close to Avery who had that kind of access to Riddle.

He had to do it, no matter how it made him feel. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Avery could be his ticket to the diary, to Riddle himself, to going home to a home worth returning to.

A/N: Thanks for reading and for all the reviews so far. Harry is about to get himself in the middle of some pretty crazy crap between Riddle and Avery - wish him luck lol - and Harry will only be able to deny his attraction to Riddle for so long. Thanks again :)


	6. First Kiss

Harry sat under the dim lantern glow in the library, trying to read The Standard Book of Spells, Year Six, but he couldn't get his mind off Avery and Riddle, the way they looked pressed together, flushed and breathing heavily.

He swallowed, trying to wet his dry mouth. It would do little good to think about what happened between the two boys a few days ago. He'd been doing his best to get to know Avery while learning about the other Slytherins and reporting bits of information about their relationships with Professor Dumbledore to Riddle.

As Harry flipped the pages of his book, he thought of what he had to do next: Earn Avery's trust and get him to reveal what he knew about Riddle's diary, and anything he knew about horcruxes.

He was waiting for Avery now. He'd pretended he needed some help in potions, a class Avery excelled at, so they could get to know each other and maybe Harry could work in a few, well-disguised questions about Riddle.

Avery was walking toward him, his hair combed back perfectly, not a crease or rumple in his uniform. His cloak billowed behind him, making it seem for the briefest pause that Avery was floating.

Harry blushed then looked down at his book, trying to hide the red blossoming in his cheeks. Had Avery dressed so well, looked so put-together today, for _him_? It was hard to believe after what he'd seen Avery do with Riddle that he would be at all interested in Harry, but time after time, Avery seemed just that.

Interested. _Very _interested.

"Good evening, Harry," said Avery, his voice lingering on Harry's name.

"Evening, Avery," said Harry, looking up at him.

"What did you need help with?" asked Avery, pulling a chair so it was directly next to Harry's. When Avery sat down, Harry breathed in the boy's scent, his heart fluttering faster.

"Um-" Harry licked his lips. "I just had a few questions about the ingredients of healing potions. Their differences and uses. The textbooks isn't clear."

"Don't fear, Harry." Avery touched Harry's knee and rubbed a quick small circle. "Healing potions are a speciality of mine."

Harry smiled, feeling a dull heat growing in his cheeks. "Good to know."

For the next half hour, they sat together, sharing an occasional lingering touch. Avery's fingers would trace over his while they lingered on the pages of Harry's potion book.

There was no one else in the library and Harry, being a Gryffindor regardless of the color of his tie, had an idea. He was having trouble working Riddle into the conversation. Avery didn't seem too interesting in talking about him. The only thing Harry could think of was to ask him directly. Then he'd have to answer – or at least Harry could gage his reaction. See maybe just how close he and Riddle were. If it were some sort of relationship or just a sexual thing.

Harry honestly wasn't sure which one he thought was worse or why. It wasn't like he really _liked _Avery. He didn't know him that well. Maybe it was just that he was with Riddle.

_Yeah that was it._

He pushed the thought from his mind. It did him no good to think of the way Riddle's adam apple moved when he swallowed or the drawling, dark sound of his voice.

If it were just a sexual thing then maybe Avery wouldn't know anything, but he still spent time in Riddle's room, so maybe he had seen something. Still, it would probably take something. Something big to make Avery betray Riddle.

"Are you dating Tom Riddle?" Harry blurted.

Avery tensed. "Harry, I-"

"I saw you and him, Avery. You know I did and I was just wondering because you keep... touching me."

Avery stared down at his hands folded in his lap. "We're not dating. Not _really. _We're just-" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

So it was just a sexual thing, at least on Riddle's side. What did he expect? That Voldemort was capable of feeling? Ridiculous. He never should have entertained the possibility.

"Still," said Harry. "Riddle and I have enough problems with each other without us." He gestured to Avery and Avery took his hand.

"It's not like that with Riddle and me. He doesn't want – he doesn't care what I do. We haven't even... not in months... I 'm not sure what got into him the other day." Avery's voice faded. "Or why he left the door open."

Harry had wondered that himself. Riddle was the kind of person who would pride himself on privacy and keeping his secrets. It was strange that he would have been careless enough to let Harry see what he got up to with Avery.

Maybe he was trying to show Harry that Avery belonged to him... or maybe he was trying to make Harry jealous.

Harry laughed at that thought. He wasn't even sure where it came from. There was no way Tom Riddle would ever be interested in him or that Harry would be interested in Riddle, right?

"I don't want to get between you," whispered Harry.

Avery scooted closer, so close Harry could smell the mint on his breath. "There's nothing to get between. He spends most of his time alone. Disappearing off to somewhere. I followed him once and he went into the girl's bathroom... I shouldn't have said that." Avery's shoulder slumped. He looked so innocent and real and broken.

Harry reached to his cheek. "You can say anything to me, Avery.

"I just wanted," Avery continued. "To know what it was like to be cared about, to have someone who could love me, someone that would want to kiss me."

Harry's heart was pounding so hard and his head was spinning. "You and Riddle... I mean you... he had to have _kissed _you." It had been a long time since Harry had been kissed and held himself.

He and Fred would often steal kisses and touches in the hallways at Hogwarts or at the burrow. He could almost feel Fred's muscled arms wrap around him from out of the dark and pull him into a secluded corner.

I've missed you, Fred would whisper.

You don't have to miss me, Harry would reply

Their hands would be in each other's hair and sliding down skin. Even though it wasn't like it was for Avery and Riddle. There were real feelings, warm, heartfelt touches, but they still had to keep their relationship a secret. Fred liked girls too and didn't want to have to explain to George and to his whole family why he was snogging The Boy Who Lived between the stacks in the Library – and then after Fred left Hogwarts, in the attic of the Burrow.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have-" Avery jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over. Harry stood up with him, grabbing his arm and pulling Avery back to look at him.

"Have you ever been kissed?" asked Harry.

Avery bit his lip and shook his head slightly. "No."

Harry's hands fell to Avery's hips, gripping the cotton, pulling their bodies flush together. "_Avery-_" Harry breathed.

"Will you kiss me, Harry?"

Harry smiled, running his fingers over the hair above Avery's ears. He looked down at the sloping curve of his nose and his pouty pink lips. He pulled down slightly on the boy's bottom lip then just lingered over his mouth, hands on both sides of his face.

He nuzzled his nose softly against the side of Avery's. Avery groaned, making Harry tense. Calmly, slowly, Harry covered the boy's mouth with his own. More than anything, Harry wanted to behave differently than Riddle so even though his body was telling him to slam Avery against the wall, tug his sweater off and pull his legs up around his waist...

Harry breathed against Avery's mouth, trying to keep control of his wandering hands. He gripped one on Avery's waist and one on his neck. Avery had a grip on his tie.

He pulled away and just like Fred had done for him brought another quick, soft kiss to lips to let him know he liked it. That he'd do it again.

"How was that?" Harry whispered gruffly in his ear.

"Hm?" Avery muttered.

Harry chuckled. "I think I need more potions help. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect."

As no one was around, Harry held Avery's hand all the way to the hallway. For those few seconds, he almost forgot that he was just trying to get something from Avery – that he couldn't stay here – that none of this was real.

The next night Harry waited for Avery in the library, his hand feeling strangely sweaty as he anticipated running his hands through that soft black hair and pressing his tongue inside Avery's mouth.

After he got some questions answered about that girl's bathroom. He wanted to make sure it was the one where the Chamber of Secrets was located so if went hanging around the girl's bathroom it would be for a reason.

When Harry heard footsteps, he reached into his bag and removed a bottle of butterbeer he'd convinced a house elf to get him. He thought it would be a nice gesture for Avery.

"Hello, Potter," drawled a voice that made Harry's heart speed up even faster than if it would have been Avery.

"Riddle. What are you doing here? I was meeting Avery."

Riddle picked up the bottle and inspected it, his fingers getting wet with condensation.

"Why would you want potions lessons from Avery when you could have them from me? I'm top of the class." He sneered. "But you're not really here for potion lessons, are you?"

Harry clenched his fists. "No. I'm asking questions. Like you asked me to."

Riddle laughed and sat down right next to Harry. He put his arm over the back of Harry's chair. His fingers trailed up Harry's neck and under his chin. Why wasn't he pulling away?

"Don't lie to me, Potter. I know exactly what you're doing with Avery. Not that I can blame you. He is a pretty little thing."

"I'm not like you. I wouldn't treat him the way you do." Harry stood from the chair.

Riddle laughed. "Of course not. You'd never use someone, would you Harry Potter?"

Harry stopped in his tracks. He hated when Riddle used that voice, cold, but something hidden away in it. It felt like that time he had X-rays at the dentist. There was no way Riddle knew of Harry's plan with Avery. His plan to find the diary through Avery.

It was different though, wasn't it? He wasn't really using Avery. He did like him... I mean he was attracted to him and he was a sweet guy, but yes he did want something from him and once he got that thing, he was going to leave.

He turned back and looked at Riddle who was lounging with the chair propped up against the table, drinking the butterbeer I brought for Avery. "Maybe we're not as different as I thought."

"We're nothing alike," Harry snapped.

"I think you're protesting a little too much." Riddle walked over to Harry, standing a little too close. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm getting tired of this little arrangement between us. You're not producing results fast enough."

"I'm trying! I have narrowed it down. There's five people it could be. Lestrange – Black -"

Riddle cut Harry off by placing a slender finger to his lips. "Yes. I can take it from there."

"You'll give me my invisibility cloak back?" Harry asked.

Riddle lifted a corner of his lip and grinned. He let out a shaky breath then brushed his fingers down Harry's arm to his hand, pausing where their fingers touched. "I have another arrangement that I think may suit us both better."

**A/N: Sorry there's not too much Riddle in this one. I promise I will remedy that next chapter give us more Riddle and more of the external plot as well. I wonder what Riddle's new arrangement for Harry will be? Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	7. Lost Boys

Harry Potter's hands were sweating as Tom Riddle shut the bedroom door slowly. His heart pounded against his ribs as he swallowed trying to wet his dry mouth.

How for the love of Merlin did he end up in Voldemort's bedroom again? It was getting bloody ridiculous.

Maybe this was good. Maybe it could be. He was getting no where with the location for the diary other than Avery's comment about Tom sneaking off to the girl's bathroom. It was possible he'd take the diary with him since it was somehow deeply connected to the Chamber of Secrets. For now though, Harry would settle with the possibility of a new arrangement with Riddle that might mean closer access to the diary and to him. For official horcrux destroying purposes of course.

"So what's this new arrangement?" asked Harry impatiently.

Tom ran slender fingers through his own wavy dark brown hair. The light in the room had an almost greenish tint to it, which cast delicious disturbing shadows across his sharp features.

"Would you care for some?" A bottle of firewhisky flew out of the cupboard into Tom's hand and two glasses appeared on the nightstand.

Harry was about to say no, but as Tom raised an eyebrow, Harry felt saying no might alienate him when he needed to gain Tom's trust, get close enough to kill. Besides, he needed something to calm his nerves.

"Yes. Thank you."

Tom poured two glasses and handed one to Harry who drank half in one swallow, forcing himself to ignore the painful burn coursing down his throat.

"An experienced drinker," said Tom, moving closer.

Harry took a sip. "I've had my reasons."

Tom swallowed all the firewhisky in one gulp. Everything had to be a competition. "We all have."

"So – the arrangement?" asked Harry again, needing his answer now. Before the whisky got to his head. He could already feel it in his sweaty hands and thrumming pulse. That had to be caused by the alcohol, not by the lithe, dangerous man who eyed him like a predator.

"Harry Potter – all business – all the time. Never would have thought it. Such stern seriousness is usually mine." Tom tucked his fingers under Harry's chin. A shiver shot down his body. Harry tore away from the touch.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Tom grinned. "Nothing."

Harry drank the rest of his firewhisky. And Godric he needed it.

"Would you like some more?" asked Tom, straightening out his tie.

"No I've had quite enough."

"Just a bit."

Tom took the glass, letting his fingers linger on Harry's for the briefest moment. He poured them both some more. As Harry drank, Tom watched him closely.

"What?" snapped Harry.

He shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Dizziness settled in Harry's head, like flies buzzing between his ears. He couldn't already be drunk, could he? Though he'd had quite a bit of firewhisky.

Harry sat down the glass.

"He's fun, isn't he?" Tom sipped his drink.

"What?"

"Avery – you enjoyed him, I presume."

"We did not have sex," said Harry harshly.

"I'm sure he would. He's very willing."

Harry's hands clenched into fists. "You're a pig."

Tom placed his hand on Harry's cheek. "At least I'm not a virgin."

"You don't known a damn thing about me." Anger surged inside Harry. Who did Tom think he was?

Tom let out a huff of air and began to circle Harry. "Yes, of course. You're right. I don't know a thing about you. Except you lost your parents when you were young which left you to be raised by people who didn't care for you. Muggles, I'll wager. You always felt different, set apart, until one day you found out they were all wrong about you. You _were_ special. Half-blood, am I right?"

Harry's hands were shaking. Could Tom read his mind? No way. He had been practicing occulamency so much he could do it in his sleep. As a matter of fact, he did. "How did you?"

Tom's hands gripped Harry's shoulders as they turned to face a dusty mirror. "I can see it in your eyes. Just like in mine." His breath was hot against Harry's ear. "The look of a lost boy."

Harry shivered, pulling away from Tom. "I need another drink."

Tom smirked. "Help yourself."

Harry poured this glass himself and drank it quickly. He didn't even feel the burn anymore.

"Maybe we should discuss that arrangement now?"

"Hm-" muttered Harry.

"Our arrangement. We should discuss why you're here."

"Oh, yes," said Harry, tripping forward and almost falling. Tom caught him by the elbows. Heat burned in his cheeks as he watched Tom's eyelids flutter. "Right of course."

"Avery is delicate, sweet even. Compliant – which I can't say I've minded, but we're so _different. _Not with you though. I can feel something between us, can't you? We're the same."

Harry's whole body was shaking with the whisky and the fear and the lust. He shouldn't – couldn't – wouldn't feel these things for Tom Riddle, but how could he not? The man was an exquisite demon.

Tom's teeth grazed Harry's ear as he whispered gruffly, "Let's be lost boys together."

"R-riddle, I -" Nothing made sense. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Of all the arrogant – did that man know who to use people or what? Though Harry had no idea why Riddle thought he would agree.

"Don't answer me tonight, pet. Think about it and let me know tomorrow night."

Harry was too drunk to argue as Tom's mouth came down on his neck and bit. A ferocious contact that made Harry's knees buckle. Maybe he was just drunk, yeah that was it.

"Good night, Harry Potter." The door of Tom's bedroom opened and Harry walked out of it more confused than he'd ever been in his entire life.

As Harry lied in his bed trying to get sober, he couldn't believe what Tom had just asked. What he had propositioned. Harry hadn't even taken the time to ask him what this meant for his invisibility cloak – but nothing – not even that was worth doing _that _with Lord Voldemort.

Not even...

but what if something was worth it? The thought slithered into Harry's mind. Would it be worth it if it meant finding the diary and destroying it? Destroying Lord Voldemort? If it meant changing history, getting his parents back and saving everyone he loved. Hadn't he promised to do anything for them?

Voldemort's own arrogance would be his undoing. So convinced that no one, especially a gangly boy in glasses, could take him down. Would even consider it. Once again his own arrogance would destroy him. Harry smiled at the thought.

But what did that mean? Did it mean saying yes to Tom Riddle's offer? To becoming his...Harry swallowed.

Yes.

_I'm just drunk...very drunk. I'll change my mind in the morning. __Maybe._

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review. Sorry this was a bit short but I wanted it to be it's own chapter. You'll have to wait and see if Harry changes his mind - also it's good to keep in mind that both Tom and Harry will underestimate each other in this fic as they often did in canon. Thanks again! Hope you liked it.


	8. Enemies with Benefits

Harry was alone in the dormitory, everyone else had already gone to breakfast or were in the common room. He waited by the window, looking out over the hills that were slowly being claimed by the colors of autumn and the skies painted grey with clouds.

How could he have agreed to this? Of course it was for his friends, for his family. He needed close to Riddle and this was as close as he could get. The idea of selling himself...but it wasn't really selling himself. Just an arrangement like friends with benefits, except this was enemies with benefits. Not that Riddle knew just how much Harry hated him and certainly not why. How could he? Tom Riddle hadn't even done those things yet. Not that it mattered. He was still Lord Voldemort. Still total evil. Good looking evil...

Harry groaned and leaned his head against the glass. He was going to do this, he'd do anything for the people he loved, but the idea of being with Voldemort like that. It would be easier if he didn't think of him as Voldemort for awhile, but as Tom Riddle. Even at twelve, when he'd met him in the diary, Harry had felt a bubble of attraction for him, before he knew what he was.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Avery voice startled him. He stepped next to Harry, the light from the window lighting his eyes.

He sighed. "Nothing, Avery. I'm fine." Obviously, he wasn't fine but what could he say about it to Avery. Nothing.

"You don't look fine." He grabbed Harry's chin and turned his face so they were looking at each other. The soft touch of Avery's fingers against his skin sent warmth through his body.

"Well, I am." He avoided the other boy's gaze. How could he look him in the eye?

Avery's hand dropped away and he stared back out of the window. "Are you mad at me for not coming the other day? You know what Riddle can be like-"

Harry let out a strangled laugh. He knew more than anyone. And it was Avery that should be mad at harry. "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm just...confused."

"What for?"

Harry huffed, running his hands over his face. "Merlin, I don't know. Can we drop it, it's not about you, okay?" In a way it was about Avery though. The deal he'd made with Tom would stop them from being together.

Cautiously, Avery took Harry's hand. "Want to go get some breakfast? I bet you could use some breakfast."

Holding the boy's hand tight, Harry let Avery pull him from the vacant dormitory into the hall. If only he didn't have to let go, not just of Avery's hand, but of the potential of what they could have together. Even if it wasn't for his deal with Riddle, he'd have to let it go. Harry didn't belong in this time.

Harry looked at his feet. "I'm sorry, Avery."

"For what?" His fingers rubbed the skin on the back of Harry's hand, causing him to inhale sharply.

"I'm just sorry."

Voices from the Slytherin common room echoed through the hall. The green fire made the whole room glow with an eerie light. Tom Riddle stood by the fireplace. Harry averted his eyes as quickly as possible."

Avery shook his head and dropped Harry's hand."You're a strange guy, Potter."

By the end of the day, Harry's nerves had had it. He'd taken one last chance to steal Avery way into a dark corner of the castle, run his hands through his hair and kiss him softly, gently. Now that was over and it was time to face the decision he made. The most important thing was for Harry to keep his focus and search for the diary, in case it was plain sight. He'd hold off on questions this time. It would make Riddle suspicious.

With a deep, shaking breath, Harry pushed open the door to Riddle's leaned against the wall, hands in the pockets of his grey trousers. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and an open black cardigan. "Good evening, Harry. You made it."

"Yes." Harry stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, the floorboards squeaking beneath his feet. His heart picked up speed. Why did he have to look like that?

"Shut the door, please." Tom waved his long fingers in a sharp gesture. Harry gently shut the door which clicked. Tom waved his wand and the door locked.

"How was your day?" Tom stepped toward Harry, his glossy shoes snapping on the floor. Shivers coursed from Harry's feet to his head.

Harry licked his lips, wetting his drying mouth. He stared down at his feet. "Um, fine, I guess." Scanning the room, he tried to think of something to say. "You got a new bookshelf?" It didn't look that different, but it was bigger. Merlin, Harry said the dumbest things when he was nervous.

Tom grinned, the dim light glinting off his white teeth. "It's just enlarged. I've got a few new books. You can take a look if you like."

Harry ran his hand over the pages of the books, trying to steady his trembling finges. Maybe he'd get lucky and see the diary. Nope. Just loads of strangely titled books. "The Darkest Spells Known to Wizardkind. 1000 Curses to use on your Enemies." He chuckled nervously. "I better watch out."

"You're not my enemy." Tom's cold hand fell on Harry's neck and then slid to his shoulder. He turned Harry to face him. Harry drew in a deep breath and held it. There was no way he should react like this to Tom's touch.

Tom's eyes were slightly crooked, just enough to make them fascinating. He had sharp cheekbones, but a small dimple in his chin that added a bit of life to his face. Light, nearly invisible freckles sprinkled around his mouth and his lips were curved like a hunting bow.

"You're one of us – a Slytherin – I take care of my own." Tom gently squeezed Harry's hand. He gasped out the breath he'd been holding and pulled away. He turned his back to Tom.

"Why do I doubt that?" Harry muttered, heart slamming even harder. He'd heard about the Death Eaters, they weren't given much mercy if they didn't do exactly as told.

Tom stood behind Harry, nearly pressing against him. He leaned down, breathing in his ear. Harry started to shake. "I'm not sure what you've heard about me or from whom, and I may run a tight ship, as the muggles say, but I'm not unfair or cruel to my people. Why should I be?" The way he talked, like he was the king of some country!

A jolt of confidence bounding through him, Harry spun on his heel and looked at Tom again. "Maybe you find it fun."

He ran his hands down Harry's arms, playing with the soft fabric of his sweater."Give me a chance to show you I'm different than what you think."

Tom lifted Harry's hand and pulled it to his mouth. Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, his blood rushing, fear and hate and attraction mixing in his veins.

Riddle's lips met the tip of his thumb, then his pointer finger. "I'm. Really. Not. All. Bad," he said, punctuating each word with another quick kiss to the top of Harry's fingers. Why was he doing this? Being so kind and gentle...he was Lord Voldemort and after what Avery said, after what Harry had seen, he never imagined it would be like this. Feel like this.

Tom's mouth was on the palm of his hand when Harry choked out the words, "I never said you were."

His mouth hovered over the inside of Harry's wrist, the hot breath making the hair on his skin stand up straight. "But you think it, I can tell. You think it just the way Albus Dumbledore does."

How could he possibly know that? But he was right.

"Yet I'm here. You're..."

Tom took Harry's hand and placed it just below his chest. Beneath the white fabric, Harry could feel Tom's heart beating, so fast it stuttered every few beats. "You're not here for me. You're here for you, for your own ends."

Harry laughed and pulled his hand away from Riddle. "What, Tom? You expect me to be madly in love with you?"

Tom stared down at his shoes then back at up Harry. His thumb worked apart Harry's lips, and he stepped closer. Harry had started to shake. "No. No one has ever loved me. I can't imagine why that would change with you."

"It wouldn't," Harry whispered. He would be the last person on earth, the last person in the history of everything, who could love Tom Riddle.

Something dark flashed in Tom's eyes. An image of Voldemort in the graveyard appeared in Harry's mind. "As I suspected."

Tom grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. A sharp pain shot through Harry's back. Riddle pushed himself against Harry, locking his wrists to the wall. Harry's heart was tripping in his chest, sweat leaking at his temples. He was trembling and his eyes started to burn with moisture.

Riddle's mouth was just over Harry's, waiting there, but not touching. His minty breath steamed into Harry's mouth. Tom pushed against him even harder and Harry tried not to react, but his body was doing what a body did. He hated himself for it. Fear and anger was pushing the moisture from his eyes. _Damn it_. A tear leaked out. Tom 's lip barely brushed his, like a whisper, an accident. Then his mouth moved to Harry's cheek, covering the tear, dryly licking it away.

His bones were shaking, betraying him. Confusion attacked every thought, every flicker of desire erupting inside Harry.

Riddle breathed into his Harry's ear. "You can leave."

He couldn't have said - "What?" Harry's eyes widened as Tom released him and moved across the room, hand running through his hair. His back was to Harry.

"You heard me. Go!"

Harry moved toward the door, his body trying to calm down, but still his heart was wild in his chest. "I thought-"

Tom straightened himself up and glared at Harry. "I expect you tomorrow, Potter."

The door unlocked. Harry tugged it open. He shouldn't have done it, but he looked back through the crack in the door. Tom punched the wall, hard, shaking something loose, like he had something within the wall. As much as it terrified and unfortunately intrigued him, Harry had to get back in that room. To figure out what he was hiding of course, but also, to discover why Riddle had ever let him go in the first place. Why he hadn't just taken from Harry exactly what he wanted.

**Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and confused!Harry and conflicted!seducing!Tom. Harry will have to see if what is hiding in Riddle's room is what he think it is. Please review! p.s. i've heard people aren't getting the alert messages. let me know if you aren't either or if you are. not sure what i can do about it if it's not working but i'd like to know Thanks!  
**


	9. Easy

Grey clouds filtered the morning sun, leaving the room dim, even overcast, though Harry was inside. Everyone else had gone to class, as they were supposed to do. Well, everyone except Harry and Avery.

Avery had those dark eyes that he could so easily fold himself into. Like splitting open the black sky with his fingers falling into it. He had no idea how long they'd been kissing, running their hands across each other's bodies. That was likely a bad thing – the last thing they needed was to be caught together.

_Especially by Riddle, _thought Harry, then pushed the idea away. That should be the least of his worries.

"I don't know if we should be doing this." Harry pulled Avery down on his lap, hands on his hips. The way he felt with him was physical, good, like he'd felt with Fred.

Avery's mouth moved across the skin on his neck. "Why not?"

"I, um, I'm not sure." Harry swallowed hard, his whole body alive with every touch. Their lips met, hard and fast. It was a chemical reaction that lived in his skin.

"Then stop worrying, Harry." Avery whispered against his mouth

Harry breathed heavily, running his hands down Avery's leg, feeling the hardness of the muscles, the occasional jut of bone. "I'm trying."

"Do you not like me or-" Avery rolled off Harry and onto the couch. Harry's stomach sank as he watched Avery's face fall. He didn't want him to think that; it wasn't even sort of true.

"No, Avery. It's not that...it's just I don't want to -" He cupped Avery's face with his skin was soft to the touch, surprisingly pliable though it looked tense, strict, like any "good" Slytherin would want.

Dark eyes wide and thoughtful, Avery asked, "Don't want to what?"

"Just kiss." Harry sighed.

There was a pause. "You want to have sex?"

A small laugh escaped Harry's lips. "What? No."

"Oh..." Avery stared down at his feet.

Harry ran his thumb down Avery's cheek. "I mean it's not that I don't want. I want to go on date with you." He felt awkward saying it, a little like asking Snape for extra potions ingredients after he'd ruined some.

"You know we can't do that." Avery shook his head, a cast of sadness forming on his features.

"We can make it look, you know, not like a date."

"Really?" He perked up a little, his hand falling on Harry's knee.

"Like just two very manly men hanging out. We'll even stare down women's shirts." Harry laughed.

"Do we have to?"

"We'll pretend." Harry grabbed Avery around the waist and pulled him on top of him again. He pressed his mouth against Avery's, working his tongue between their lips until he could taste the pumpkin juice Avery just had. It was beautiful, sweet, made the world fold in on itself until it disappeared.

"We're going to be late for class," Avery muttered between kisses.

With a smirk, Harry feigned surprised, "Wait, is this a school?"

"Not that I remember." Avery pushed his hot hands under Harry's shirt. He tensed then relaxed, pulling him into an even closer kiss.

When Avery and Harry finally managed to untangle themselves, it was after lunch. Harry fixed his hair and hoped no one noticed his red swollen lips.

Students bustled down the corridor, waves of black robes that Harry looked a part of but didn't feel. This wasn't his Hogwarts. It was someone else's and it made him sad.

"Where were you today?" asked Riddle, startling Harry. He hadn't seen Tom come up beside him, but there he was, looking put-together, in control, in his perfectly pressed uniform.

He swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't see you in potions... you weren't there, were you?" Riddle wasn't looking at him, just straight ahead.

"Obviously I wasn't there if you didn't see me. It's not like I could have been wearing my invisibility cloak." Harry snapped.

Riddle's fingers dug into his arm. He shoved Harry against the wall. His blue eyes moved down to Harry's lips. He paused. "Being sarcastic with me is probably not a good idea."

Harry tore away from Tom's grip. "Why not?"

Running his hand through his hair, Riddle turned his back to Harry. If it hadn't been Tom, he would have said he looked hurt. "I don't know why I even try."

"Try what?" Harry sighed.

Tom shook his head, a fiery red blossoming in his ears. "Nothing. Just...I'll see you tonight." His voice was ice.

"You can't be serious?"

His head whipped toward Harry and, with with a dark, starling glare, he sneered. "Yes. I am."

Before dinner, Harry was happy to run into Avery again. He was going to starve if they kept skipping meals to snog in empty room and closets. Harry knocked over a broken racing broom as he turned to face Avery in the dark cupboard. He was having trouble breathing, but it wasn't Avery or the kissing or the closeness. It was the memories he had of being locked under the stairs.

The other boy's touch shocked him out of his memories. "When are we going to go on our date?" Avery grabbed Harry's sweater and pulled their lips together.

"We'll have to wait for Hogsmeade weekend, won't we?" he asked then kissed the other boy again.

Avery's shoulders slumped. "Yes, I suppose." He grinned and it lit up his face. "Will you buy me a butterbeer?"

With a laugh, Harry shook his head. "Yes, Avery."

Avery wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and kissed his ear. "I'll have to pretend I forgot my money."

The sudden realization of how long they'd been together here washed over Harry...it was nearly time to go see Riddle. He swallowed, a part, a large part of him wanting to stay with Avery, but not all of him and that was terrifying.

Harry's skin tingled. His kissed Avery on the cheek and said, "I've got somewhere I have to be. I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?" Harry walked a few steps away then turned back and gave him one long, soft kiss.

The Slytherin dormitory was quieter on it's worst day than Gryffindor on it's best. He missed the laughter and loudness. If only he could just wander up the tower...but now was not the time for thoughts like these. He had a deal with the devil to finish.

Harry knocked on the door to the Head Boy's room. No answer. He knocked on it again and again. "Riddle? Riddle, you in there? Tom, I'm coming in."

Tom sat on the floor, knees to his chest, shaking. He stared blankly at the wall, his wand loose in his hand. Even though Harry hated him, Riddle was hard to look at. Someone so powerful, shouldn't look so damn shattered.

Harry knelt down in front of him, pushing up his chin. Riddle's eyes were bloodshot, but breathtaking blue still made his head spin. "What are you doing?"

"Harry?" He blinked a few times, looking dazed.

"What happened?"

Tom sighed. "I practiced for too long."

Harry didn't understand. "Practiced what?"

He swallowed and lifted his wand, pointing it at the wall behind Harry. "Crucio," he said. A thick-black spider twitched on the wall and crashed to the floor. That didn't answer his question...

"Huh?" Harry took in Riddle's pallid complexion, cracked lips. A treacherous corner of him wanted to bend down and lick away the dryness. "Wait, did you practice on yourself? Merlin, Tom how is that even possible?"

Riddle shrugged and looked down at his hands. Harry lifted his face again. "Hey, look at me. Can you stand? You need to get to the hospital wing." What on earth was he saying? Harry should just let him die here or suffer here at the very least...but he couldn't. He just couldn't. If he did that, he wouldn't even be Harry anymore.

He shook his head. "No. I'm fine. It's happened before."

Harry groaned as he stood up. "How could you possibly think that was a good idea? What was going through that crazy mind of yours?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Riddle snarled. Reluctantly, Harry reached out a hand. Tom took it, making his insides jump. Harry helped him climb into bed.

"Just lay down," whispered Harry, gently pushing back on Tom's shoulders. Something about the look of Riddle being beneath him...

_No, Harry. Stop that right now._

Riddle stiffened. "I don't need to lay down."

"Yes, you do. Your lucky you didn't end up in a permanent room in St. Mungo's."

With a huff, Tom laid back on his pillow. "Harry, get me a drink. The firewhisky's in the bottom cabinet."

Harry grit his teeth together. What was he doing helping Tom Riddle anyway? Still it was better than what could have happened tonight. He reached into the cabinet, grabbed the bottle and poured Riddle half a glass. He sat on the edge of Tom's bed, near his head and handed him the drink."Here, though you should probably have some water. Stay hydrated."

Tom half-smiled, his eyes glinting, and took a sip.

"Seriously, though, Riddle. Why on earth would you do that?" He never would have thought of Voldemort as the kind of person who'd inflict pain on himself. That was reserved for other people, defenseless animals and babies.

"It makes me stronger. Not just the pain, but the magic. If I do it on myself, it makes the spell stronger when I need to use it." His voice was dry, gruff, making Harry feel all itchy on the inside, uncomfortable in a comfortable way.

Harry put his hand on his forehead. "It's an unforgivable; you shouldn't be using it at all."

Riddle let out a sharp laugh. "Potter, always following the rules."

"You're the first person who has ever said that."

Tom gasped, his hand flying to his temple. Harry caught his drink and sat it on the night table.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

Tom touched his own forehead. "Headache."

Harry glanced at a folded white t-shirt on Tom's nightstand. "Give me that." Harry pointed at the shirt.

Tom looked at the shirt, brow furrowed. "Why?"

He sighed. "Just do it, Riddle." Tom handed him the shirt. Harry cast a freezing charm on the fabric then held it to Tom's head."Hold this to your head." He didn't even notice he hadn't been breathing until Tom's hand covered his and his whole body seemed to erupt in icy flames. No not just his body, a piece of something else, a swirling ball of unidentified living something, concealed deep in his chest.

Their eyes met, holding, getting lost in that deep blue. Harry bit down on his lip, trying to ignore the tension like a thousand cords that connected them. Tom rubbed his thumb up and down and up and down the back of Harry's hand. He must have worn a hole in it. A fiery, terrible, beautiful hole.

"_Harry..." _His name on Riddle's lips was dark and low and shook that something inside him, and spun it around like a hand twirling a globe.

Tom leaned up slightly, his lips parting. Harry caught himself staring at the pink texture of his mouth, the dry cracks of skin. The world silenced around him, until he swore he could hear both their hearts beating. And nothing, nothing, nothing else. Except everything because he realized suddenly that nothing else had disappeared. Instead it all exploded with life and heartbeats and thirsty lungs.

He leaned closer to the aroma of mint and whisky coming from Tom's mouth. Just a few inches...

Harry jumped back. He almost kissed Tom Riddle. Merlin, no."I should go. You're in no state to- whatever we were going to-" Tom latched onto his arm. "Let go," said Harry harshly. This was not happening. He could not allow it to happen. Not like this. No, not at all.

Tom's face hardened, as stern as he'd seen it in a while. "You're going on a date with Avery."

"How do you even-"

"I know what goes on in my own house. It's my responsibility to know." He softened again until the words were almost a whisper. "Why are you with him? I'll tell you. Because he's easy."

Harry had had enough of the way Riddle spoke about Avery. "Tom, he's not-"

Tom ran his fingers down Harry's arm, sending sparks through every inch of him. Sparks that made Harry hate himself. "Calm down, dear. Is your mind always in the gutter? I didn't mean it like that."

"Just stop." Harry ripped himself away from Tom's grip, but he just wouldn't give it up.

"He's easy. Easy for you to be with. Easy for you to hold on to and let go. If you lose him, it won't break your heart. It won't even matter that much. But with me-"

"Oh you've got be kidding!" shouted Harry. What a pompous ass! He just assumed Harry had feelings for him, some sort of creepy deeply rooted connection and didn't even matter if Harry wanted it or not.

He sat up, placing his long legs on the floor, eyes locked on Harry. The kind of gaze strong enough to shatter bone. And Harry felt like he was splintering apart."We're not easy. Whatever we'd be together, it wouldn't be easy. It wouldn't be just good enough, mediocre. We would be...remarkable. You know it and it scares you."

_No. No. No._

"You're wrong. _It _doesn't scare me. _You _do. You're...evil." Harry spat, his whole body flushed with anger and something else, something that made his whole body jitter.

"I'm evil?" Tom shook his head slowly. "Harry, there's no good and evil only-"

Harry threw his arm out. "Power? Yeah some jackass told me that before. And you know what? It's still the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Tom's jaw tensed, his whole frame contracting to make him look smaller yet more powerful. "Potter."

Harry saw the invisibility cloak hanging on Tom's desk chair. He picked it up and chucked it at Riddle. "Deal's off. You can keep the damn cloak. I'm done." With that, Harry slammed the door, ratting the walls. He was losing his mind. Losing control, letting himself feel things that made him a traitor to everyone he ever loved, especially the parents who died for him. The parents that man with those blue eyes and perfect lips had killed.

Harry had a new plan. Kill Riddle and then go after the horcrux.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think :)**


	10. Control

Harry was regretting his idea to take Avery on a disguised date. It was something he'd always wanted to, but now was not the time. Still, what would he tell Avery? It was too late to back out. Especially when he showed up grinning ear to ear, and smelling of after shave.

They'd walked together down to Hogsmeade, making sure to walk several feet apart. Harry heard a voice behind him and jumped, for a moment thinking it was Riddle.

The last thing he wanted was to run into him today.

Snow had covered most of the grounds and Harry was thankful for his scarf as the cold wind chilled him. He wished he could pull Avery closer for warmth, but of course he couldn't.

When they made it to Hogsmeade, Harry opened the door for Avery.

"Thank you," he answered. "This is one of my favorite places." Avery smiled, giving Harry a gentle flutter of warmth in his stomach.

Harry lightly touched his elbow, making sure no one noticed. "Mine too."

Avery stepped up to the counter and ordered. "Can I have a butterbeer?" He reached into his pocket and pretended to search for his galleons. "I forgot my money."

Expecting this, Harry stepped up behind him. "No problem. I'll take care of it."

Riddle walked in and Harry's heart shot from his chest into his mouth, beating in his teeth. Why would he think he'd be able to avoid Riddle? Especially when he knew that Harry and Avery would be here.

"What is it?" asked Avery, leaning over to Harry.

Harry took the butterbeers and walked with his back turned to Riddle. "Nothing. It's fine. Thank you. Let's sit down."

They sat down at small table by a frosty window. Harry tried to ignore Tom, to ignore his sweaty palms. The reactions he was having more and more near Tom Riddle. Reactions that made him hate himself.

Avery pressed his leg against Harry's, took a sip of butterbeer and leaned in. "Want to go to Honeyduke's after this?"

Harry wasn't sure if he really meant the candy store if that was code for something. Either way, he wasn't focused enough to give a solid answer.

"Sure." He smiled, but he was having trouble paying attention. His mind on Riddle who was leaning against the bar, a green scarf tied around his neck that made the blue in his eyes shimmer like shards of glass from across the room.

Why was Riddle here alone? He could hear the faint mumble of Avery talking, but he couldn't make out the words. When a stout wizard blocked his view, Harry moved to see better. Avery must not have noticed because he elbowed Harry in the side.

"Sorry, sweetheart," said Avery, too loudly. Much too loudly.

Harry stomach clattered to his feet. "Avery..."

A stocky Ravenclaw boy stopped, head whipping toward them. "What did you just call him?" he asked Avery, venom in his voice. A blond haired younger boy stood at the Ravenclaw's side.

"Nothing. I didn't..." Avery stuttered, face red.

"Nothing. I didn't..." They mocked.

Harry bolted from his chair, nearly knocking it to the ground. "Grow up and back off. It's none of your business," he snarled. He'd been having trouble controlling his anger recently and these two idiots were not helping.

The bigger Ravenclaw shoved Harry, but the younger boy just leaned over to Avery and said, "That's disgusting, you know."

"What? Nothing. It wasn't anything." Avery buried his face in his hands.

Harry had his wand out, pointed at the Ravenclaws's chest. "Just leave now."

"Or what, _snake_?" The Ravenclaw drew his wand. Just what he needed a duel...or maybe he did need it...a chance to fit, to win, to control.

Riddle had made his way over, arms crossed, his eyes like chilled diamonds. "Is there a problem here?"

"Riddle, I'll take care of it," Harry spat. Did he have to come over here and make things worse? Mock him in front of everybody? What else would he want?

Tom's eyes gleamed, dark and terrifying, as he grabbed the Ravenclaw by his chubby arm. "You should go, like Potter suggested. Now," he hissed.

"Yes, Riddle." The Ravenclaw boy trembled.

"Sorry, Riddle," said the younger boy and they scurried out of the Three Broomsticks together.

Harry had forgotten that though he wasn't Lord Voldemort in the traditional sense yet, that he still _was. _Riddle was powerful, demanding. Terrifying and authoritative.

Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, making his breath catch. "You two, all right? Where's Avery?" asked Tom, looking half concerned, half amused.

Harry glanced out the window. With his hood up, Avery was hurrying back to the castle. Fantastic...he just left Harry to deal with the problem he caused by himself. He kept forgetting that Avery was a Slytherin, and Slytherins looked out from themselves.

_So why did Riddle help me?_

Harry left after Avery without saying a word to Tom, though he didn't actually go to find Avery. He was too mad at him to have a conversation about what happened. As the night went on, guilt crept up inside Harry. Tom had helped him, pulled him out of a rough situation. He could at least say he was sorry for running out without a word.

"Can I come in?" Harry knocked on Tom's cracked-open bedroom door.

"If you must," drawled Riddle from inside.

Dry mouthed and shaking, Harry stepped inside, greeted by the now familiar sight of Tom's bed, dresser and desk. "Riddle," he managed to say.

Tom raised a slender eyebrow, his uniform shirt half-way unbuttoned, revealing his pale, hairless chest. "What?" he sneered.

How was he going to manage this? "I'm..."

"Your...?" Tom crossed his arms, looking stern, but still..alluring.

Harry forced himself to stare down at his feet so he wouldn't notice the elegant curve of Tom's shoulders, his slim waist, his perfect delicate hands. "Do I have to say it?" growled Harry.

"Yes." Tom was now close enough Harry breathed in his scent, like old books. His pants were slightly loose around his hips, showing off the deeply set bones where his shirt was a bit too tight.

_Just say it. _"Sorry, okay. I'm sorry. Are you happy?" Harry slammed his hand flat against the wall, startling himself more than anyone.

Tom looked into a distance that wasn't there in such a small room. Like maybe somewhere underneath all that control was something broken. Something he couldn't repair. "I'm never happy, Potter."

That something inside harry settled deep and heavy in his chest. His voice lowered as he stepped closer to Tom. They were nearly toe to toe. "Just...thank you, okay?" Harry breathed.

There was a pause then Tom said, "I told you going on a fake date with Avery was a poor choice."

Harry rolled his eyes and took a few steps toward Tom's bedroom door. "Not because of that because you have this weird thing with the two of us being together."

"It's not a _weird _thing." A flash of hurt glimmered on Tom's face.

"It's incredibly weird," said Harry, wishing he didn't notice how beautiful Tom was, how vulnerable he could seem sometimes. That was the worst...the most terrifying thing.

"Why?"

"It's hard to explain."

Tom closed the gap between them, his hand on Harry's stomach, fingers playing across his abs, each touch melting into his skin. "I feel so drawn to you, Potter. Connected. I know you feel it too. You have to. It's too...powerful...for you not to feel it." His whisper was deep, harsh and so lovely it made Harry want to fold in on himself and disappear.

"So what if I do, that doesn't change anything. I don't like you and don't trust you." Pain broke Harry's words. _So why I am so attracted to you?_

"You don't know me." Tom traced Harry's cheekbones with his thumbs.

"I can't know you, Tom." It was better, easier, to think of Tom as Lord Voldemort, an idea, an embodiment of evil, than this. Beautiful eyes and soft skin and a touch that could turn the world to ash.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to be your pet." Harry tore away from Tom's powerful, entrancing grasp.

A pause, another pause, and then a slow whisper, "I never asked you to."

Harry tried not to look at him, but failed again and again. The dim light made his eyelashes glow golden and delicate. No Harry couldn't give into this man. "I've seen the way you treat Avery. You won't treat me like that, control me. Never."

Tom huffed, slamming his fist down on his desk, rattling the ink and quill. "You don't know anything about that."

"You never even kissed him." Harry was reaching for anything to explain why he couldn't, shouldn't, be with Tom, when his body was begging for it.

"Because he asked me not to. He's come to me every single time, Potter. He likes it like that!" shouted Tom, his face a bright, brilliant, pulsing red.

"You're lying." Harry stared down, shaking his head. That's not how Avery had told it. Well, he hadn't really explain much. Harry just sort of filled in the gaps based on what he knew about Riddle.

Tom caught Harry's chin, pulling their gazes together. There was heavy, unfiltered desperation in his voice. "Do you know how tired I am, Harry? Everyone comes to me, day in and day out. You two morons get yourself into trouble because you can't manage to be discrete about your shagging-"

"We're not..." Harry protested.

Tom had Harry's face in both his hands. "I'm the best student in the school, Harry. I'm a prefect. I have responsibilities you can't begin to understand. I'm tired, damn it. And thought maybe you, you seemed like a man who wanted something to control...just for awhile."

Harry's heart was tripping and spinning and tearing apart. The universe was just not making sense anymore. "I'm sorry. What are you asking?"

"You hate me. I'm not sure why, but you do. Outside of this room, I'm in charge, of everyone, of _you_. And if you ever tell anyone, I'll make you regret it. But what if in here...I shouldn't be saying this...just leave...forget." He dropped his hands from Harry and suddenly Harry felt he was falling through a black sky into nothing.

Desire pulsing through him, Harry caught Tom's wrist. "Shut up."

"What?" spat Tom.

"Shut the hell up." Harry grasped the back of Tom's neck and couldn't take it anymore. Not another second.

He crushed his lips to Tom's. Hard. Furious. Harry bit down as hard as he could. Tom winced, but just pulled Harry closer.

"Is that what you want?" asked Harry, breathing into Tom's mouth, his whole body a million little flames consuming him, threatening to burn the whole world along with him.

There was a long pause as their breaths mixed together. "Yes."

Harry wasn't careful with Tom like with Avery. Their lips met over and over. Fast and with total abandon. He dug his fingers into Tom's hips as he slammed him hard against the wall, shoving one of his legs in between Riddle's. Tom let out a small, deep growl.

Tom's hands were in his hair or running down his back on his thighs. Everywhere. What was wrong with Harry? Why was he loving this? He shouldn't be.

"Avery," Harry said, his heart dropping into his feet. What had he done? How could he have? Tom hadn't even tried to make him. There was no reason other than how much he wanted to.

Without a word, Harry tore himself away from Tom and ran out of his bedroom. His insides shattering into tiny little pieces, an avalanche of mistakes that would drown him. His mind told him how wrong he was, but his body, oh Merlin, his body had never felt anything like that before.

He was the worst person in the world. In that moment, he felt like he was even worse than Voldemort.

**Thanks for reading. I thought it would be interesting to do a role flip for them when it comes to the physical stuff. I hope I explained why Tom feels like he does about it and why Harry, being one of the few people not afraid to stand up to him, is the one he goes to, on top of the strong connection and attraction they have for each other outside of that. Anyway, Harry just can't make up his mind. Can he? Please review :)**


	11. Firewhisky

_Meet me in my room at 5. We have something to discuss._

_-T.R_

Harry crumpled the note in his hand, tossed it in the trash bin in the empty dormitory. There was nothing to discuss with Riddle. How had his mission turned into such a mess? Even if he was mad at him, the thought of the killing Riddle seemed off, weirdly off, like killing Draco Malfoy. Something he could never bring himself to do, no matter how pissed he got at the guy.

He held the time turner in his hands. Maybe he should just go home. Fight that Voldemort. All of sudden, that seemed easier, easier than this.

It was nearly five now...curiosity bit at Harry. What did Riddle want?

He couldn't resist. With a groan, Harry stood to his feet, hid the time turner and made his way down the hall to Tom's room.

Harry shoved open Riddle's bedroom door. "Tom, what do you-"

On the bed Tom's muscular body was held up by his straining arms. Moving back and forth.

What the hell did he walk into? Tom shagging someone again?

A boy, dark hair fallen back, cheeks blushed red. "Yes, Riddle. Merlin, don't stop."

No. He wouldn't. No. _Avery._

"You like that?" Tom bit down hard on his neck. Harry was horrified, but also...also something else.

Avery winced, then moaned. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" His voice was cold, high, like Lord Voldemort's. Still something hot burned beneath Harry's waist.

"Yes, My Lord," he whimpered. Tom pushed hard against him. Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"Avery!" shouted Harry.

Avery's small dark eyes looked to his left. Tom was smirking.

"Harry, Harry I-"

He felt sick, so sick, but it wasn't just Avery. No that was the worst part. It wasn't Avery at all. "Don't. Just don't talk to me." Harry ran out of the room.

He crawled into the bed. Pulled his head under the covers. The only place he could think to hide. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Images flashed through his head. The wrong images. Tom's soft, brown hair pulled out of his face by gravity. Harry over him, moving inside him...

This had to stop, but he wasn't sure he could stop it anymore.

The next morning, Avery caught Harry in the hallway, dragged him into an empty classroom. Anger cropped up in Harry. Not just at Avery, but at himself for letting himself get tangled up in all of this. For just wanting a break, for not wanting to fight...but then if he just found the horcrux, killed Riddle. He wouldn't have to fight anymore. So what was he still doing here?

Why didn't he want to leave?

"Harry, please," begged Avery, grabbing onto Harry's arm. He tore away.

"No, Avery. How could- I don't even care. Whatever we even were, we're done. I can't do this." They both had to stop pretending.

"Harry." His voice was soft, broken. Just another lie, another manipulation and Harry couldn't take it.

He pointed to the door. "Go."

That evening, those thoughts kept swirling around in Harry's mind, toxic and unavoidable. He shouldn't still be here. But what difference would it make how long he stayed. He'd still go back to when he left. Everything would change, and no one would be the wiser. He'd be alone...the only one carrying the burden of what happened...

The thoughts were too much. He knew Lestrange kept a bottle of firewhisky under his bed. Harry dug it out, and drank. He just drank and drank. Hoping no one would come back and catch him because he was probably too drunk to win a duel.

All those other thoughts floated away until there was just one. One repeating thought. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle.

Harry threw what was left of the whisky under Lestrange's bed and stormed down to Riddle's room. He burst in without knocking.

It was late, but Tom was dressed like he was about to go somewhere. He had on wool trousers and a grey T-shirt, a white button-up over his desk chair.

Riddle regarded him, eyebrows raised.

"You're sick." Harry slurred, tripping forward.

Tom sighed, shaking his head. His hair was wet from showering; he smelled like sweet shampoo. "Don't act surprised."

"I'm not surprised, I'm angry," Harry shouted.

Tom was calm. Too calm. "But not at me."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Yes, at you. Just not only you."

Tom grabbed his hand. Harry's heart tripped, fell from his chest, and onto the floor. "It was the only way I could get you to see that what you had with Avery was a lie. What we have, that would be real."

Harry stared down at his feet, at his still-beating heart. "What you did was wrong."

"It was effective, and if it worked, how could it be wrong?" Tom whispered, dark, gruff. The sound struck Harry in the chest, making him shiver.

"You're screwed up in the head, Tom. You know that?"

Riddle's thumb stroked his lightning scar; it didn't hurt. "So are you." Tom pulled away from him with a heavy sigh and sat on the edge of the bed.

Harry was so drunk, everything blurred. Somehow everything but Tom, who seemed to shimmer brighter, like stars had dripped into his skin.

"What?" asked Riddle.

"Godric, you're pretty," said Harry, unsure where the words came from. Probably the firewhisky. It didn't matter.

"Wh-"

Harry sat by Tom on the bed. Leaned in. Breathed in soap and laundry detergent. He covered Riddle's mouth with his, pressing hard. His tongue pressed against Tom's lips and Tom opened his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon.

Harry ran his fingers down Tom's chest, riding over the hard muscle, the stiff, lovely bone.

"Let me take your shirt off," he growled into Tom's ear.

"Yes, Harry." Riddle's voice was clear, simple. He leaned back on his hands. Harry gathered the fabric in his hands, slid it up his stomach. Tom lifted his arms, stretching the beautiful muscles that laced beneath his skin. Harry pulled the shirt over his head.

That was all he could take. Harry threw himself on top of Riddle, slamming him hard into the mattress. Their mouths met. Over, over and over. His mind was so blurry, spinning, tripping over itself until he hardly knew what was happening, what it meant. It didn't matter. Harry didn't want to stop. Not with the taste of cinnamon on his tongue. Not with all his anger rushing out of where it he kept inside, turning into something else, a power in his hands

Harry tugged his nails down Tom's chest, leaving pretty pink marks across his pale skin. Riddle growled quietly in his throat. "That hurts."

Breathing heavily, he brought his mouth to Tom's ear. "Want me to stop?"

"No."

"Good."

Harry was between Tom's legs, pressing against the fabric of his pants, pressing against him. The world was messy, he was dizzy. His jeans felt too tight, too heavy. There was too much between them – and he just wanted.

His fingers gripped the waistband of Tom's trousers; trembling fingers worked at the button.

Riddle's hands grabbed his arm. "Harry Potter. No."

Harry shouldn't have lifted his eyes, looked at Tom lying back, no shirt, just a beautiful, pale chest, marked by Harry's hands. His heart leapt to his throat; Riddle was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. "I thought you were going to do whatever I said."

Before he could react, Riddle flipped him over on his back. Held him down. Easily. Like he wasn't even trying. Tom was the one in control, whatever control Harry had was given to him and could be taken away just as easily. "You're drunk."I'm getting drunk just from kissing you. There's enough whisky on your lips." He kissed Harry. "I don't sleep with drunk men."

"I'm not drunk," Harry protested. But yes, he was drunk. Very drunk. He yawned...and tired. Suddenly, very tired. The whiskey was catching up to him.

Tom rolled off Harry with a laugh. "Tell me that in the morning."

The lights snapped off, leaving them in darkness. He should have gotten up, walked to his room, but sleep was drawing him in and Riddle's bed was so warm.

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review :) I love hearing what you all think. Sorry this chapter was a bit short. I promise a longer, more plot heavy chapter next. (Still with some T/H though). Thanks again!**


	12. Lucky Man

_quick warning: this chapter is a bit more mature than the others so far._

Harry blinked a few times then his eyes slowly opened. Where was he? His head ached like nothing he'd ever felt before.

"Good morning, Harry," said Tom, propped up on his arm, looking across the bed at Harry.

_The bed?_

Harry's heart slammed against his rib cage. He flipped off the bed, smacking the floor hard. Tom chuckled softly.

"What happened?" asked Harry, his head popping from the floor. He rested his chin on the rumpled comforter. His eyes scanned Tom's bare chest, taking in the pink scratch marks.

_Did I?_

A devilish smirk crossed Tom's face. "You don't remember? I thought I was unforgettable. I mean I did it you enough times..."

_Oh no!_

Harry's head throbbed. "What?"

Tom's laugh filled the room. "Harry, it was a joke."

"Thank God." He let out a huff of air and stood. Even if they hadn't had sex, Harry still shared a bed with Tom Riddle, future Lord Voldemort. How messed up was that?

Tom slipped out of bed, his wrinkled trousers riding low on his hips. "You really know how to make a man feel good about himself. No wonder Avery-"

"Don't," Harry warned. Did Tom always have to be such a prat?

Tom's gaze flicked away from Harry, his voice low. "You are right. My apologies."

"What did happen last night?"

"You came in drunk off your ass insulting me. We kissed for a while then you tried to take my pants off."

"Oh." The memories came back in slow, blurry images.

_My hands on his smooth skin._

_His tongue pressing against mine._

_My heart beating harder, faster, as he touched me._

Harry shook a way the memories. "My head hurts." His fingers rubbed his scalp, but the touch provided no relief.

"I would imagine." Tom picked his wand up off his nighstand, and gestured with it. "Come here."

Harry hesitated but then closed the distance between them. A gasp escaped Harry's lips as Tom pressed his wand to Harry's head and breathed a quiet incantation. The pain eased, moving back like waves drawing away from the shore. A warm hand brushed Harry's cheek and down his neck.

Tom Riddle, the healer. Who would have thought?

"Better?" Tom's voice was a hoarse whisper that shook Harry down to his toes.

"Yes. Thanks," said Harry, trying hard not to stare at Tom's lips.

Harry avoided Avery that day during classes. Thankfully, Avery was also avoiding Tom so Harry sat by him. Dumbledore spent all of Transfiguration sending unsettling glares in their direction.

When class ended, Dumbledore asked "Harry, may I speak with you?"

Harry looked nervously at Tom who shrugged and walked out of the room. "Uh, yes. I guess so."

"You're friends with Tom Riddle?" The professor asked. His auburn but slightly greying hair making him look quite different from the man he'd known.

"I wouldn't exactly say that."

A hand fell on Harry's shoulder. "Be wary of him. That's all."

"Why?" Of course, he knew why. He just wanted to know why Dumbledore already had his suspicions.

"He's not what you think."

_Some things never change._

"You could stand to be a little less cryptic." Harry said more to the Dumbledore of fifty years from now than the one standing before him.

Dumbledore's hands clasped behind his back as he paced. "It's just I've known men like him. They make you forget what really matters."

As usual, this meeting with Dumbledore just left him with more questions than answers. "I'm late for class," he said and then hurried out of the room before his professor could say any more.

Harry could hardly pay attention in classes the rest of the day. He kept thinking about Tom, about what it felt like to kiss and touch him. How he didn't want to stop. Then an idea crossed his mind. Tom had made only one horcrux, right? What if Harry found it and destroyed it? Maybe Tom would get the idea that it was too dangerous to have pieces of his soul where they could be destroyed. Maybe he'd decide not to make another.

It wasn't the best idea, but he would grasp for anything.

When he could hardly stand it any longer, Harry snuck away from the other students in the common room, some of them silently chatting about their secret meeting with Riddle, and found Tom in his bedroom.

"Are you alone?" asked Harry.

Tom loosened his uniform tie, the green bringing out swampy flecks in his otherwise blue irises. "Who do you think I'm with?"

_I'm hoping not Avery..._

"Oh it could be any number of people."

"Could it?" Tom raised a coy eyebrow and then moved with beautiful swiftness toward Harry. "What did Dumbledore from you anyway?"

Harry's hand went to the back of his head, scratching his neck. Why did he always feel so nervous around Tom? _He's Voldemort, you moron, _thought Harry to himself.

"He wanted to warn me about you."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Stupid old fool has it out for me."

"He's not a fool...he has reason not to trust you, doesn't he?" It's not like Tom didn't have evil schemes, not like he hadn't split his soul. Killed someone.

"Are you sufficiently afraid of me again?" Tom leaned in, his hot breath warming Harry's ear.

A smile grew on Harry's lips. He whispered in Tom's ear, "I was never afraid of you."

Harry captured Tom's lips with his own. Tonight he tasted like butterbeer and salt. Riddle's hands pushed up his shirt, cold against hot skin. He gripped onto Tom's black cardigan, pulling him closer. Harry pushed his tongue into Riddle's mouth, and he opened his mouth wider.

Desire coursed through Harry, so much of it he didn't know what to do. A million thoughts tumbled through his mind. None of them innocent.

"Get down," ordered Harry, heart slamming so hard he swore it would break through his skin. He couldn't believe what he was saying. Would Tom know what he was saying? He would, right?

He could feel Tom's hand tremble as his lovely, long fingers moved down Harry's chest to his belt buckle. When Tom's knees hit the floor, Harry shut his eyes, his body turning to liquid under his skin.

_He knows._

Those bruise colored eyes looked up at Harry. "Has anyone ever?"

Harry swallowed, shaking his head. "No."

Tom pulled down his zipper, reached into his boxers. It was a strange sensation. Like he could feel everything from the waist down a million times more, and then yet, he was numb, tingling all over. "Have you?" asked Tom.

Yes. He had. Once in the burrow, he and Fred had been kissing. Things had gotten rather intense, and Fred asked him to. Harry didn't know what else to say so he said yes. It was a bit...awkward but he'd sort of liked it.

"Not that it's any of your business," Harry finally replied.

Tom leaned up just a bit and kissed Harry right below the navel. "Lucky man." Tom's lips vibrated against Harry's skin, sending warm ripples through his body. Why was Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, doing this for him? It was insane. But so damn hot.

He saw Tom's chest rise and fall, then felt a mouth close around him. His tongue moved up and down. Harry let out a gasp, then squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the wall.

"Does that feel all right?" Tom pulled away and glanced up at Harry whose brain was, at this point, oozing out his ears. He nodded and brought his hand to the back of Tom's head, caressing his soft hair.

As Tom's lips, fingers, tongue, touched him...licked him...Merlin. It was...he couldn't even think. His hand gripped Tom's hair, instinctively bringing him closer. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek to temper the groans pushing their way out of his mouth. Tom was too much...way too much.

He remembered how shocked he'd been whenFred had – well... "Tom," he breathed heavily. "I'm about to-"

The vibrations of Tom's laugh against him was just too much. Harry slammed his palms flat against the wall, and swallowed the scream that wanted to rip out of his lungs. That warmth that had been contained in his abdomen burst open and spread throughout his body, sucking away all his energy.

When Tom's lips left him, Harry slipped down to the ground. Tom smirked and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You seem to have some experience with that." Harry was still trying to catch his breath.

Tom leaned against the wall next to him. "No actually."

"Just a fast learner at everything then?"

What just happened hit Harry hard. Fast. He didn't regret it, he'd loved every damn minute of it, but he had no idea how to do this. How to sit around and talk to Tom like they were friends. Harry jolted to his feet.

"Where are you going?" asked Tom, his lips red, slightly swollen.

_Merlin, he's even more beautiful now._

Harry had to get out of there. Now. "To bed."

A sad look formed on Tom's face as he looked down at his pants, at his own excitement.

Harry let out a sharp laugh then walked to the door, leaving Tom on the floor. "That's for the stunt you pulled with Avery."

Harry could never forgive Tom for what he'd do someday to his parents, but the feelings, the desire, he had for Tom Riddle, he couldn't pretend that wasn't real either.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Harry and Tom's relationship is very physical right now, but it will grow, and Harry will have to keep searching for that diary, instead of letting Tom distract him. Thanks again. Please review!**


	13. The Other Potter

Harry had basically been avoiding all human life for a week. He felt like he was starting to lose his mind. He'd come here to kill Riddle and be done with it, but now he'd somehow gotten himself all tangled up with him. What was he supposed to do now? Every time he closed his eyes, Harry saw Tom on his knees in front of him again.

The guilt ate at him. He wasn't built for this – to be a killer. He wasn't like Tom.

His mind was on his problems as he walked down a quiet hall, staring down at his feet. He wrecked into someone, startling himself.

"Sorry." Harry looked over his shoulder and saw a boy with messy black hair and oval glasses who looked a lot like himself.

"No problem," said the boy, observing Harry. "Hey, you're the other Potter?" His brow creased.

"The other Potter?" Was this the boy Tom had mentioned the day they met?

The boy extended his hand. Harry took it. "Yeah, I'm Sam. Sam Potter."

He swallowed. Who was this? An uncle, grandfather? Whoever it was, he was family, and that was strange. "Harry Potter."

Sam smiled, and there was a rakish glint to his smirk. "Nice to meet you, even if you are a snake. I wonder if you're a long lost relative of mine or something."

"Uh, maybe."

A girl with blonde hair wearing a pink dress stomped into the hallway. She whipped out some parchment and smacked Sam with it. "You know, Sam, you could take your own notes in class."

He grinned at her, batting his lashes. "But you're so much better at it."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. This is the last time."

Sam snatched the parchment from his friend. "Okay, Abby." He pointed at Harry. "Oh, this is Harry Potter. We might be brothers!"

Harry's voice was a bit too quiet. "I don't think -"

"Pleasure." Abby raised a critical, discerning eyebrow.

There was an awkward pause then Sam asked, "Where's Weasley, anyway?"

That was too strange... a Potter in the past being friends with a Weasley and he and Ron never knew it.

Abby threw her arms in the air, backing down the hall. "I don't know. It's not like I keep track of him."

"Yeah, of course not." Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, if you see him. Tell him he promised to play some one-on-one quidditch with me today."

"If I see him," Abby said, then turned the corner out of sight.

Harry went to head the opposite direction when Sam called out to him.

"Hey, other Potter? You play quidditch?"

Trying to hide a smile, Harry turned back toward his relative and nodded. He'd missed the rush, the freedom of quidditch for a long time.

He and Sam walked down the Qudditch pitch, the wind whistling through the trees, the scent of fresh grass everywhere. Harry couldn't help the smile on his face and the excitement as Harry borrowed a school broom and flew into the air with Sam.

They hit the quaffle back and forth, trying to get it past the other person and into one of the goals.

"Potter – what 'cha doin' with the snake?" asked a red-headed boy with shoulder length hair chomping on a chocolate frog as he walked onto the pitch.

Sam swooshed around on his broom. "He's not the snake, Weasley. He's the other Potter."

The other Weasley, Harry thought, jumped on his broom and zoomed up to meet them in the air. "Nice to meet you, other Potter."

"Harry," he said half-smiling. It was strange to look at someone who seemed so much like Ron. "I can go now so you two can play." He felt the bubble of excitement in his chest pop as he began to lower, hardly remembering the quaffle tucked under his arm.

Weasley shook his head. "Nah, Abby's gonna play. We can do two-on-two."

Sam leaned over to Harry and said, "Abby's pretty good, but she's too busy studying for a waste of time like quidditch."

"Shut up, Potter." Abby shouted, jolting up from the ground on her broom.

Sam clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, shaking his balance on the broom. "Don't insult the man, you hardly know him."

Abby snatched the quaffle from Harry and chucked it at Sam; he dodged it. "I'm talking to you, Jackass."

Sam just laughed, then the others joined him. Harry couldn't help but laugh either. Something he hadn't done, not like that, in a long time.

They played for a long time, until the sun went down. Harry and Sam's team won.

Sam dragged Harry under the stands on the field; Abby and Weasley followed behind them. Abby lit her wand, illuminating the otherwise dark space.

"Thanks. I had a good time." Harry leaned on his broom.

"Want one?" Sam pulled a butterbeer from a case he'd hidden under the stands.

"Sure." Harry took it, popped open the top and took a long, refreshing drink. The liquid felt cool and sweet on his tongue, but the flavor reminded him of kissing Riddle.

"Why didn't you try out for the Slytherin team?" asked Weasley, sitting a bit too close to Abby.

Harry shrugged; he hadn't thought he'd be here that long. "Felt weird... being new and all."

Sam grinned and leaned back, arms behind his head. "I, for one, am glad he didn't. If Harry Potter played for the Snakes, we'd get destroyed."

Harry blushed and stared down at his feet. This was as close as he'd ever get to his father complimenting him. His stomach turned. "I don't know about that."

Sam shook his head. "I do. Those were some serious skills."

After a while, Harry headed back to the Slytherin common room. The time he'd spent with his Sam, Abby and Weasley (whose first name he still didn't know because they all called him Weasley) was the most normal time he'd had since coming to the past.

"Harry. Harry!" a voice stopped Harry in his tracks. It was his potion's professor.

"Professor Slughorn?"

Slughorn crossed his arms and glared. "What is it I hear about you wanting to transfer out of my house? Highly unorthodox – bit rude actually."

_What on earth is he talking about? _

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand. I never asked for a transfer out of Slytherin."

"Tom Riddle he came to my office today. Spoke to myself and the headmaster. Said you weren't fitting into Slytherin and he thought Gryffindor would be a better place for you."

Harry's head started to spin. Why would Tom do that? It didn't make sense. He needed to be in Slytherin, close to Riddle and to the diary. "I can't – no, I didn't. I want to stay in Slytherin."

Slughorn sighed. "Good. I hoped it was just some sort of misunderstanding. No reason to be ashamed of your house."

Harry felt a mad rush of anger toward Tom. "I have to go."

He hurried down the steps into the dungeons and to the Slytherin common room. There were a few students scattered about the room, sitting by the window or the fire. He even saw Avery whispering something to Lestrange, but didn't have time to care. He marched right up to Tom Riddle.

"Riddle – may I speak with you?" Harry glared at Tom who sat on a chair reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet._

"Certainly, Potter," he said smoothly as he stood.

They walked in silence until they got to the door of Riddle's private room, and Harry shoved him inside, slamming the door behind them.

"Is it really that horrible being in the same house with me? I don't just do exactly what you want so you get me thrown out?" His heart thrummed in his chest, anger seething from him.

The calm in Tom's voice just made him madder. "Harry let me explain-"

"No. It's my life. If I wanted to leave Slytherin. I'd take care of it. Me. Not you. It's none of your damn business." He gripped Tom's shoulders. Tight.

Tom wrenched away from Harry, shoving him back.

"STOP SPEAKING TO ME LIKE THAT!" shouted Tom. Harry had never seen him look like that – or sound like that. It made him cold and hot at the same time. Tom gripped Harry's chin and forced him to look up. "I'm not _your _punching bag either for whatever misfortunes have befallen you. I'm sick and tired of your tantrums, and you taking out your problems on me. That's enough." He shoved Harry again, and Harry landed on the edge of the bed.

Tom paced, breathing heavily. Harry couldn't even move.

Harry forced himself to calm down; his voice lowered to soft hum. "Why, Tom? We don't get along so you just kick me out?"

Tom looked away from him, a lost longing in his voice. "I saw you."

"What?"

He sighed, and, when he turned to face Harry, those blue eyes sent Harry reeling. "With Abigail Fairchild, Weasley and the other Potter. You looked... like I've never seen you."

What did they have to do with anything? "What are you talking about, Tom?"

"With them, you looked _happy_. I've never seen you look happy before, and I just thought-"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but a warmth was spreading in his chest, a kindness, and he was sick of pushing it out. Could it be true? Tom had wanted him to be happy more than he wanted to control Harry or screw him? No. It couldn't be. But it sounded so sincere... maybe it was.

"You're not responsible for my happiness, Tom. I am." Harry was surprised at himself when he took Tom's fingers in his. The contact sent tingles through his body. Just a simple touch and he was coming undone.

"I've never cared whether or not someone other than myself was happy or not. I shouldn't now either." Tom looked ashamed of himself, even though for the first time Harry wasn't ashamed of him.

"There's nothing wrong with caring." Harry's voice was low, hoarse.

Tom ran a hand down his cheekbone to his lip, his thumb dipping slightly into Harry's mouth. Harry licked the top of Tom's thumb. "Yet somehow it always lands me in trouble."

The light flickered beautifully across Tom's pale skin as he leaned down and straddled Harry who lost all ability to breathe at the strong touch. Tom pressed his thumb a little bit deeper into Harry's mouth, running it over his tongue.

His words were muffled, but he hoped Tom could still make them out. "I don't _want _to leave Slytherin."

Tom's beautiful body slumped and he pulled away slightly. "I can tell, Harry. You belong there – in Gryffindor."

Harry turned Riddle's face back to his. "I choose to be here."

"Why?"

With his heart in his throat, Harry brought his lips to Tom's, reveling in his minty taste. He must have just brushed his teeth.

It happened so fast Harry didn't even notice. Tom had pushed him back against the bed. Hard. Their mouths were meeting over and over in frenzy too hot and lovely for words. But it was Tom in control here. Tom over him, running hot fingers down his side.

"T-tom?" asked Harry.

"Yes, darling?"

The word darling on Tom's lips made the world turn inside out.

"This is hard for me."

"Yes, I am."

He kissed Harry behind the ear, bringing Harry's hand between his legs. Tom wasn't kidding.

"That's not what I meant..."

"Then let me make it easy for you." Tom's lips gently parted his and he pressed his tongue into Harry's mouth, licking gently.

Harry still hadn't removed his hand from Tom's pants, and instead of doing so, he squeezed gently. Tom growled, low and deep, which didn't help the state Harry was in either.

He pushed down on Harry, forcing his hand out of the way. Now they were just pressing against each other, through their clothes. A part of Harry wanted to tug Riddle's shirt off, but the other part of him was too afraid.

So they kept kissing and moving with each other. Tom pulled one of Harry's legs over his hip, bringing them closer. Tom licked Harry's neck over his Adam's apple and to his lips.

"This feels... Harry... you're so -" It took a moment for Harry to realize those words weren't English, but parseltongue. They were hissing and beautiful.

Then Harry spoke back to him in the same language. It was somehow easier to say the things he needed to say in parseltongue because it was their language Theirs to share, to connect them. "I want you... I've wanted you for so long, and I've just been afraid."

Tom sat up, looking down at Harry, startled. His white shirt was wrinkled, his lips red and swollen. Harry tensed just from the sight. Tom Riddle was breathtaking. He looked surprised.

"You can speak parseltongue?"

"Yes," said Harry in their shared language. "Do you like that?"

Tom let out a low groan. "You have to stop talking to me like that, Harry. If you want me to stop-"

"Don't," said Harry in parseltongue. "Don't stop."

Tom groaned then slammed his mouth to Harry's, erasing the rest of the world. Their bodies moved in rhythm against each other and all Harry could hear was the sound of Tom cursing as they rubbed against each other. Their breaths were ragged, fast.

"I have to – I can't -" Tom muttered, still in parseltongue. Tom's hand went to his own fly and unzipped. Harry swallowed hard, trying to avert his eyes, but not sure why. Still Harry reached out for him, almost unconsciously.

What was he doing? He didn't care... not even a little. Not now. Harry ran his thumb across Tom, who gasped. Unexpected.

"Apologies – Harry – I'm-" Then the words were swallowed by a grunt. Tom's body pressing, moving, against him was too much.

Harry groaned, gripping Tom's hair and letting warmth and release rush in waves through his own body. Tom collapsed on top of him, their chests rising and falling, heavy against each other.

Tom gently bit Harry's ear then rolled off him. "I'll clean us off," he said, fumbling for his wand. Harry turned over, a knot forming in his throat.

Sitting on the desk was a black leather bound book with a name carved into the front. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry was five feet from the horcrux he'd been searching for.

**Thanks for reading. Reviews, thoughts, comments, questions and concerns always appreciate. Hope you enjoyed it :)**


	14. Pureblood

Harry couldn't breathe. The horcrux was within arm's length. He'd snuck back down into the Chamber of Secrets before coming here. It was how he'd destroyed the diary the first time, so it stood to reason it would work again. He'd torn another fang from the basilisk, and it was in his trunk.

He could do it.

So why did the thought make him sick?

Tom ran his wand across himself and then Harry, cleaning them from what they'd just done. Tom licked Harry's ear and growled quietly.

"You're incredible."

Such strange words coming from the man that would become Voldemort.

"Thanks," breathed Harry, noticing how tired he was.

"I like a boy who knows how to take a compliment."

Harry found his gaze slipping to the diary. Could he bring himself to do it? To destroy the horcrux?

"I'm going to run to the restroom." Tom's blue eyes examined him. "Don't leave."

"I won't," said Harry.

Tom smiled, and brought his mouth to Harry's, biting down his bottom lip.

When Tom pulled on a shirt and left the room, Harry slipped out of bed, adjusting his wrinkled pants. He picked the diary up in his hand and ran his hands over the cover.

He could hear it hissing. The parseltongue coming from the pages. Merlin, it even sounded like Tom. Something stirred in his stomach. He dropped the horcrux.

How was he ever going to do this?

"Hey, Harry," Tom's voice sounded as he stepped back through the door.

Harry jumped away from the desk.

"What are you doing?" asked Tom.

"Nothing." Harry pushed a smile onto his face. "Waiting for you.

Tom sauntered up to him and twisted a strand of Harry's hair in his fingers. "You don't have to go back to your dorm, darling."

Harry bit his lip. "I – I don't know, Tom."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he purred against Harry's neck, moving his mouth down to his collarbone.

"I know," Harry responded, surprised at how fast he did, at how much he meant it.

"I am going to touch you though. Would you like that?"

"_Mmph-_" was all Harry managed as Tom slammed their lips together again. He struggled away from Riddle's touch. "I can't. Not yet."

"You're anything but easy, you know that?"

"Would you like me better if I was?"

"I'd like you the same." He smirked. "So what do you say?"

"Good try," said Harry, pulling away.

"Give me one good reason why not."

Harry laughed. He had a thousand reasons. _You killed my parents. Tried to kill me. More than once. You killed my godfather. You killed Albus Dumbledore._

But not yet, this man in front of him with a clear smile and eyes that burned, this man hadn't done any of that. He had killed someone though. Myrtle, probably. To make the horcrux. He'd framed Hagrid and ruined his life.

"There are so many reasons."

"Tell me one." Tom hooked his fingers into Harry's belt loops and pulled their bodies flush.

"I can't-"

"Then, it doesn't count, darling." He bit down on Harry's ear. "Stay and be mine. You know you want to..."

_Yes. _That's what Harry wanted to say, his body begged him to say, but he was tired and scared and just couldn't.

"If you want me that badly, you can't wait."

Tom groaned. "How long?"

"As long as I want." Harry brushed a stray lock of hair away from Tom's pale face. "See you in the morning."

Tom's shoulder slumped. "This is a disappointing turn of events."

"Patience," said Harry as he slipped out of Tom's room, taking one last look at the diary.

It took all his will power not to charge back into Tom Riddle's room, lay down on his bed and let that man make him forget everything that's hurt him.

The next morning, Tom sat down beside him at breakfast. Harry's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't slept the night before. He'd been too busy thinking about what went down with Tom, and what he was going to do with the horcrux. He'd promised to destroy it. Promised to kill Tom Riddle. But now that he'd found the horcrux, he just wasn't sure he could do it.

They didn't say anything to each other, but Tom reached over and took Harry's hand. Merlin, he hoped nobody noticed. But Tom didn't seem to care. He was tracing heavy circles on the palm of Harry's hand that sent jolts through him at every turn.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Tom," he whispered. "Not now."

"I'll have you when I want."

A heat rushed to Harry's face met with a tinge of anger.

"It doesn't work that way with us."

Tom smirked as if he knew, no matter what Harry said, that when Tom talked like that, it made him absolutely crazy. But still, they'd decided Harry was in charge of all this, and Harry wasn't about to give up that power.

"I'll come to your room tonight," said Harry. The words fell out of his mouth before he could really examine them. He knew what he meant to do though.

He could grab the basilisk fang, hide it in his sweater, which he'd quickly take off. Then... it would be easy if Tom hadn't moved the diary. He could destroy the horcrux and kill Tom.

Kill Tom.

He felt his breakfast burn his throat. No. Not Tom. Just the horcrux.

_The horcrux is Tom. _

Harry shook the thought away.

"Can't wait," said Tom. "After nine though. I have a, um, meeting."

Harry nodded and watched the movement of Tom's hips as he walked out of the Great Hall. Why did he feel this way for him? Why did Harry Potter want Tom Riddle more than he wanted to breathe?

Just as planned, Harry hid the fang in his cardigan. Tom left his door slightly open so Harry could get in. Harry tossed his sweater over Tom's desk chair, and quickly scanned the room for the diary. It was no longer on the desk, but it was in the bookshelf.

When Tom came into the room, he slammed the door, stomped over to the desk, grabbed a crystal glass for his firewhisky and chucked it hard at the wall, shattering it into pieces.

Harry gasped, instinctively reaching toward his wand.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

"Damn, Lestrange – the idiot. He's gonna get us all- and Avery. If I could strangle him!" Tom's face was a fiery red.

"Calm down."

"I don't care."

Harry stepped back, sudden fear gripping him. "About what?"

"Our deal."

"Tom-"

"I just need to."

Tom pulled out his wand and nearly as soon Harry felt something twist around his wrists, pull him face down on the desk, his arms still up like they were tied to the ceiling.

"What are you doing?"

Tom pressed behind Harry. "Let me, Harry. Tell me you want me."

"Stop it, Tom. Stop now."

He could hear Tom breathing heavily behind him. Harry's heart picked up speed. Of course, this is what he'd come here to do tonight, among other things. But not this way, and not with Tom so angry.

"Talk to me," whispered Harry. "If you just talk to me for ten minutes, I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

_Had he just said that, and meant it?_

Tom stumbled back from him. The ties loosened then let go of Harry's arms. He stood up, and turned, rubbing his aching wrists.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry... Harry... I'm... sorry."

Sorry. A word he'd never thought he'd heard from Tom Riddle.

"It's, it's fine." Harry caught his breath, trying to calm down. "Just tell me what's gotten into you. You've never wanted to – like that – with me."

A part of Harry (that he didn't like very much) felt jealous that maybe Tom missed the relationship he had with Avery. That Harry couldn't be that for him...

"Oh, I wanted to," he said with an unsteady laugh. "It's just there are other things I want from you more."

"Like what?"

Tom looked a bit like a young boy as he sat down on the edge of the bed, kind of folding in on himself. Timidly, Harry sat down beside him.

"I don't – it doesn't matter," said Tom.

"Talk to me."

"Avery's pissed I'm with you – or you're with me... I don't know. One or the other."

Harry sighed. Were they really "with" each other?

"OK. Why do you think that?"

"He told Lestrange, and everyone else that I'm a... a half-blood."

Harry laughed, and immediately regretted it as a hurt look crossed Tom's face.

"It's not funny."

"Who cares what Lestrange and Avery think of you?"

Tom shot up from the bed. "Because they're right."

"About what?"

"I'm not a pureblood. My father's a damn muggle. A worthless-"

"Tom, stop. You're a better wizard than Lestrange and Avery, a thousand times better. How could they possibly make you feel inferior?"

Tom ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving. "Magic is diluted when non-magic blood is-"

"What the hell are you talking about? You know that's not true."

"What if it is? What if I would be an even stronger wizard if both my parents were wizards?"

Harry walked over to Tom. He could not believe he found himself comforting the man, but couldn't help it. "If both your parents were magical, you wouldn't be you."

"And that would be a bad thing?"

"I don't know. All I know is that two of the most powerful people I've ever known. One was a half-blood." Harry half-smiled at Tom. "And the other was a muggle born. I swear to Merlin, she could give you a run for your money. This Slytherin blood purity stuff is a load of crap."

Tom shook his head. "If my father hadn't been a muggle... he wouldn't have. I wouldn't have grown up in that orphanage. People wouldn't have tried to tell me there was something wrong with me."

"There's something I don't talk about. But you should know, Tom. My parents... they're dead. I grew up with my muggle aunt and uncle. Something you guessed. At least that I was raised by muggles. They hated magic, they hated me – and they made sure I knew it every day."

Harry's hands went to the buttons on his shirt. While they were together, Tom had taken his shirt off, but Harry never had. He guessed it was time.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry slid his tie off and then let his shirt fall to the floor.

"Is our ten minutes up?" Tom's eyes widened. "What the hell-"

There were scars all across Harry's chest where Dudley had kicked him repeatedly, or Aunt Petunia had tossed her fiery hot curling iron at him or where Uncle Vernon had hit him with the blunt side of his drill and cracked his ribs. Harry shut his eyes, trying to shove back the memories.

Tom's hands ran down his chest, his thumbs moving over the scars. "I'll kill them. I'm – your aunt and uncle did this to you."

Those hands went to Harry's forehead. To the lightning scar. "Did they do this?"

Harry shook his head. "No that was... that was someone else."

"This is why you're so angry," said Tom.

"I'm not angry."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Well I don't want to be," said Harry. He sighed. "Our ten minutes is up." He started speaking in parseltongue. "You want to tie me up and take me over the desk, now?"

Red blushed Tom's cheeks. "No."

"Oh."

"Don't look so broken up, Harry. I just want... I want to be with you differently, understand?" He batted his dark eyelashes and Harry's insides contracted.

Harry backed Tom against the bed. "You're wrong about blood purity. Don't forget that."

"Then don't let me," Tom said, his voice raspy.

Harry crawled on top of Tom, kissing him gently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Harry. I'm sure."

When he pushed his hands Tom's shirt, feeling the cool skin against his fingers, he forgot all about the horcrux on the bookshelf, and the true identity of the man beneath him.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Sorry I ended it where I did, but I wanted to dedicate a big chunk of word count to what they're about to do next ;) so hope you're excited. Let me know what you think. I love, love, love reviews!


	15. Burn

This was going to happen wasn't it? He was going to sleep with the future Lord Voldemort. It seemed just enough like a dream that Harry could let it happen. But it wasn't – it was the realest thing he'd ever known.

Tom leaned back, so elegantly. Smiling, but not smiling and Harry's heart stopped beating. Tom was exquisite, breathtaking, and the world was a thousand tiny pieces Harry quit understanding. Stopped trying to understand.

Harry couldn't feel the cold in the room or horcrux on the bookshelf or even his own breath moving in and out of his lungs. All he felt was Tom's palm on his stomach, the heat through his thin cotton shirt.

"Stop making me wait, Harry," Tom whispered. "I'm so tired of waiting."

Harry ducked his head, titled Tom's chin and kissed him.

His lips were wet like an invisible tear had been caught in the grooves of the pink skin, like he'd looked up into an afternoon rain shower, like he really had been waiting for Harry. It was timid, the kiss afraid to break.

Now it was Harry who couldn't wait.

"I want you, Tom Riddle. So much." He pressed on Tom's shoulders, guiding him back against the cottony bed linens.

He admitted it. Really admitted it – after all this time, and it was a flood breaking through a dam and drowning the castle.

Tom froze, tugging away. Harry stomach jolted to his throat? Was he changing his mind.

No...

Tom kissed Harry back, powerful, needy, like he wanted Harry to want him and Harry had never felt like that before like someone was so totally, utterly, remarkably his. Tom tasted like thunder and stars and aged mead and Harry needed more – more than ever. Total possession.

They fell back against the bed, bouncing a little. Harry held himself over Tom, straining his tight muscles, but not caring for the pain or the struggle because this was perfect.

"What's happening to me?" Tom's voice was glass shattering against a wall. "What are you doing to me?"

Harry breaths came in ragged bursts, and his sanity floated just beyond the tips of his fingers. "What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't want you like this. I should never want anything like this."

Harry shut his eyes, willing the heat in his body to cool, but it didn't work. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Never," breathed Tom, looking away, biting his slightly swollen lip. "That's what concerns me."

Harry bent his head, took the lobe of Tom's ear into his mouth, teased the salty skin with the tip of his tongue. "Don't worry," Harry muttered. "I'll take care of you."

A low grumble in Tom's throat sent Harry tipping over the edge of a waterfall, splashing against water, snapping in half.

Harry gave in.

Harry gave in to what he'd wanted all along: to being broken and human. A disaster falling in love with another disaster.

A tornado and a tsunami. A forest fire and an avalanche.

Tom grabbed his wand off the night stand then slowly, painfully slow, he dragged the tip down Harry's chest, the buttons of his shirt popping open as he did. Long fingers tucked under the open fabric as Harry sat up and Tom slid the shirt off him.

Harry was not even sure he had bones anymore. He was all quivering skin and pulsing flesh. No structure holding him together. With one swift move, he pulled Tom's shirt over his head, and started littering his pale skin with open mouthed kisses.

There was no way he should want this – should revel in it – but he was at the black bottom of the ocean. No way to ever resurface, and what a way to drown.

He traced his tongue across Tom's hip bone. Tom gripped the bars in the headboard and lifted himself up. With slow, shaking fingers, Harry pinched the black button of Tom's trousers and plucked it away from the fabric. He pulled down the zipper.

Tom's hands ran down Harry's back, curving along his ribs, dancing down his spine. He leaned up on his elbows, kissed Harry's chest, tugged on the black hair between his navel and waistband. There was no getting out of this alive. Not a chance.

With the world cracking down the center, Harry tucked his fingers under the band of Tom's trousers and slid them down his legs and off, watching the curve and rise and the little hairs on end like he was about to die and Tom's body was the last sunset he'd ever see. Harry slipped out of his trousers, kicking them off and it was just two pairs of boxers between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.

Mouth dry, Harry asked, "Have you done it like this before? I mean-"

Tom's hand fell to Harry's cheek, rough and warm and wonderful.

"No. I know it's going to hurt. I'm no stranger to pain, Potter," he said, a dark glint in his eyes, like they sparked with sinister, seductive magic.

"You've given enough of it out." Harry smirked.

"And now it's time to punish me." Tom's voice was low, growling. "I've been a very bad boy," he said. In parseltongue. Which was no help at all.

Harry exhaled, then crushed his mouth to Tom's again, swallowing that hissing, beautiful language. He kissed his way down the slight stubble of Tom's chin to his Adam's apple to the peaks of his collarbone. To the pink nipples on his chest. Tom moaned, and Harry smiled against his skin. To the tight abs. To his navel. And, holding his breath, and closing his eyes... afraid he'd crumble to dust if he didn't, he tugged Tom's green boxers away and tossed them onto the floor.

He hadn't looked before, even though he'd felt him in his hand, smooth and hot. But now he had to and wanting to and not wanting to we're strangling each other against the wall.

"Open your eyes, Harry," whispered Tom. "Look at me."

Throat thick, he opened his eyes and his lungs packed up and left. He was suddenly so fantastically, intrinsically, fascinated. His thumb traced down, tip to base. Then up again and down again, a slow freckle at time.

"_Merlin, Harry-"_

"I still owe you for the other day." Harry couldn't believe he was saying it. But it was all there was to say, all he could possibly want in this moment.

Trembling and still stroking, he lowered his mouth down and he felt the whole of magic shift beneath them. Tom pushed himself up and, for a second, Harry couldn't breathe, but he moved and then it was lovely and desperate. The sound of Tom Riddle panting and cursing and saying,

"Yes, Darling. Like that."

"Please. Oh, please."

"Your tongue is perfect."

In parseltongue.

Without warning, Tom lifted his wand, sending a shock of fear through Harry, but he ran it down Harry's hip, tearing his boxers.

Harry tugged away. "Hey."

"I'll fix it later." Tom pulled Harry's mouth back to his and they were kissing. Just kissing again. Skin to skin and lips to lips. Hearts clapping against each other through bone and flesh and desire.

Tom let out a shaky breath through his nearly shut lips then took Harry's hand in his, trailing the tips of Harry's fingers over Tom's bare chest and to his mouth.

Slowly, Harry pressed two fingers inside Tom's mouth and ran his tongue back and forth. Harry sighed and slid his fingers back through Tom's lips. The air felt cold against his hand.

With a sly smirk on his face, Tom took Harry's hand and brought it between his own legs that he spread apart a little more. Heat coursed through Harry's body, burning in the pit of his stomach, pulsing like he had a million hearts instead of one.

"It'll be okay, Harry." But there was something distant in his voice that made Harry wonder if Tom wasn't really saying it to himself. Tom had never done this before, never given someone control. Now Harry had it and was afraid he would be a like a little kid who caught a sparrow and had no idea what to do with it.

He took it slower than he probably had to. Either out of fear or out of the desire to make this moment, this moment that would surely be ruined by the morning light, last as long as possible.

"Is that okay?" Harry breathed against the inside of his thigh.

Tom laughed and Harry looked up at him. "Okay? It's bloody brilliant. You're bloody..." He raked his fingers through Harry's hair. "But you could go faster, you know."

Harry did as he was asked, and Tom melted like candle wax around him.

He'd never seen Tom like that before. Genuinely happy. He suddenly knew why Tom had wanted him to be sent to Gryffindor. When you saw someone you cared about, even if you shouldn't, when you saw them happy, you'd burn the world down to keep them that way. You'd burn yourself down.

"Come here," said Tom, sliding away from Harry's touch. He pulled himself under Harry's legs and took him in his mouth. It happened so fast and so smoothly, Harry gasped and bit down on his cheek to keep from screaming. Tom tongue stroked him in a slow, deliberate circles that sent rushes of heat through his veins.

When Tom leaned back down, there was something innocent in his face, impossibly innocent, even a little afraid. For some reason, confidence jolted through Harry. He brushed a lock of Tom's hair away from his blue, blue eyes.

"You can trust me, Tom. If you want me to stop all you have to do is ask, okay?"

He could see Tom's adam's apple move as he swallowed then nodded. Harry gave him a quick, gentle kiss then took a deep breath and started to push inside.

Nothing. Feels. Like. That. No... there was nothing that good or tight or consuming. If something like this existed it would tear apart the foundations of existence. Up would be down and inside would be outside. Logic and reason would trip and fall into beautiful nonsense.

Harry trained his eyes on Tom's... whose irises lit and widened, whose brow furrowed and lips quivered. And, he'd trade magic, for this. Magic, his ticket out of the Dursley's damn cupboard, he'd pack it in a box and toss it in the sea for the feel of Tom squeezing him, for his hands on his back and that look of total abandon on his face.

Beautiful, didn't even begin to describe this boy. Wasn't even the first letter of his book. No matter what he'd do in the future or what'd he done so far. No matter what Dumbledore said about him or the world who feared his name. Tom Riddle was exceptional and love burned from his skin.

As he moved and Tom moaned in parseltongue and Harry joined him, he took Tom in his hand.

"No. You don't need to me touch me like that. I just need you inside me. That's all."

"_Tom-_" Harry groaned, and that was it. Moving and touching and wave after wave of a new kind of perfection that defied definition or explanation.

Harry's mouth covered Tom's tasting him again, slow tongues touching, exploring. He pulled away just slightly.

"Come for me, Tom." Harry kissed Tom's neck, feeling a pulse on his lips.

Tom drew in a deep breath and shuddered. Harry's whole body lit with the sudden, intoxicating, jarring movement.

"That's it," breathed Harry. "Right there."

And Tom shouted as he came. Shouted so loudly Harry instinctively covered his mouth. The tightness and the shock in Tom's eyes sent Harry over the edge.

Harry slammed into him hard. Once. Twice, and then as the universe swallowed him up, it became perfectly clear, crystal clear, why Tom had shouted. Because that was the only thing it made sense to do. But Harry didn't. Just bit down on his tongue enough to taste blood, his hand still covering Tom's mouth.

He moved his hand away and then kissed Tom gently, licking at his lips. They stayed that way. Connected. Sweaty and breathing in heavy gasps that sounded like the wind sighing against the trees.

There was a long, strange pause and then a question Harry never expected from Tom. "Was I okay?"

He was lovely when he was insecure, nervous... odd things for Tom Riddle to be, but Harry had him out of his element and he knew it.

"Yes, beautiful, you were wonderful."

He was – and the world was broken – and time was shattered and the horcrux was on the bookshelf – and Harry Potter was in love with Tom Riddle.

And the world was going to burn.

**A/N: I hope you liked it - sorry if you weren't a fan of it all being "the scene" but this is a pivotal moment for both characters and even for the plot. Anyway, it's not super graphic, but it's the most graphic thing I've ever written, and technically were not supposed to get too crazy on even rated M. Rules and such. Please let me know what you think.**


	16. Enemy of Love

Harry Potter awoke the next morning with Tom Riddle's face pressed against his chest, rising and falling in rhythm with his own breaths. He had expected fear and guilt to grip him and drag him under. Instead, he felt a strange peace settle inside him as he held the other man in his arms.

Tom's naked form stirred against him. "You're still here," he whispered.

"Do you not want me to be?"

"That's not what I meant." Tom turned to face Harry. "I just thought-"

"Thought what?"

"That you'd regret what we did."

"You know, Riddle, so did I."

"You don't?"

He kissed Tom's slightly damp forehead and breathed in the sultry scent that was now as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. "I don't."

"We have class," said Tom.

"Yes."

With a kiss to Harry's sternum, Tom slid out of bed, exposing his perfect pale body. Harry just sat up in bed and watched the little movements he made around the room as he collected his clothes for the day and combed back his hair.

"Looking at something, darling?"

"Have a problem with that?"

"No. I am, however, glad you're enjoying the show." With a sly grin, Tom dressed slowly, a piece of clothing at a time. The way he knotted his tie, deliberately, slowly, biting his lip, was one of the most seductive things Harry had ever seen.

There was little chance Harry was going to let Tom attend classes today.

Tom reached for his cardigan… no that was Harry's cardigan.

"That's mine!" Harry shouted, but it was too late.

Tom had picked it up quickly and the basilisk fang rolled onto the hardwood floor.

"What is that?"

"It's um… it's."

Tom's eyes went wide, hard. He knelt down and picked the fang up in his elegant hands.

"This is a basilisk. How in the HELL do you have a basilisk fang?"

Harry opened his mouth, trying to formulate a lie, but failing miserably. No matter Tom cut him off.

"Better question. WHY do you have a basilisk fang?"

Harry slipped out of bed, tugging on clothes while Tom just stared at him, fury burning in his eyes.

"I speak parseltongue," he said. "There was a basilisk at my old school." That lie sounded like a lie.

"Don't," snapped Tom. "DO NOT LIE TO ME."

"Please," Harry whispered. "Just calm down."

Tom grabbed his wand and held it out in front of him. Harry's eyes went to the familiar white wood and his stomach churned, fear pulsed. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter. That's the truth."

Tom was across the room before Harry could think, breathe or blink. His hands were on Harry's shoulders and then he slammed Harry against the wall. Hard enough his head snapped against it.

"What do you want from me?"

He felt tears burn his eyes. "Nothing. Not anymore…"

"Where did you come from?" Tom pressed the tip of his wand into Harry's neck.

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't understand and you won't believe me."

"Try me," Tom growled.

Harry's eyes met his. He ignored the building fear and stared Tom in the eyes. "Put your wand down."

There were three beats. One for Tom to blink, one for him to hiss and another for him to lower his wand.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, but Tom didn't step back from him. He was still pressed against the wall, feeling small under Tom's height.

"You see this scar." Harry pulled back his hair.

"I remember it."

Harry swallowed. This was a terrible, terrible idea, but it was all he had. "You gave it to me."

Tom stumbled back, eyes wide, confusion contorting his pretty features. "Impossible. What are you talking about? You're insane."

"It's the truth."

"Get out!" spat Tom.

"What?"

"You're clearly mad. Delusional. I've never done anything to you. I didn't even know you before you had that scar. Leave now." Tom panted.

"I'm from the future. You give me the scar in 1982."

"You need help, Harry… if you really believe this… unless, what is this? Avery's way of getting back at me for wanting you and not him. What is this? Some sort of sick trick to make the Dark Lord fall in love with you and then laugh about it while you screw each other?"

"WHAT? No of course not."

Tom started grabbing stuff off his desk, his face bright red, and chucking them against the wall, snapping and shattering all manner of items.

Harry grabbed Tom's arm, trying to stop him. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"You think I care?"

"Of course you do! Isn't that the point of the damn horcrux? To live forever?"

Tom stopped, drawing in a deep breath and regaining that familiar control over himself. "What were you going to do with the basilisk fang?"

"Nothing," said Harry desperately. "Not now. I couldn't possibly now."

"You were going to kill me."

"The horcrux…"

Tom snatched the diary out of the bookshelf. "This is me. And that's what you came here to do, wasn't it? I mean sure shag Tom Riddle, but then kill him afterwards."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but what about what Tom was saying wasn't true. That had been his plan, but he'd changed his mind, he hadn't slept with Tom for that. Last night had been one of the best nights of his life. He'd never wanted anything that much, never felt anything as much as he'd felt Tom and to hear him cheapen it, Merlin, it made him sick.

"What happened last night… it wasn't like that. I didn't do that to hurt you."

Tom roughly grabbed Harry's chin, sneering. "You can't hurt me, Potter."

"Tom, please. I know you care for me."

He laughed coldly and sounded just like Lord Voldemort. "I care for nothing."

"That's not true."

"Now it is," Tom spat. "Get out and stay the hell away from me."

Sick to his stomach and dazed, Harry tripped out of Tom's dormitory into the hallway. What had just happened? How had his whole plan fallen apart in one stupid second? One stupid decision.

Still, deep inside him, like an ache, like a heartbeat. Harry could feel it – the love he had for Tom Riddle that could not be erased with anger. With the fear that maybe this was what happened all along. Maybe it was him, was this moment, that had created Lord Voldemort? Made him an enemy of love.

Days passed. Long days and nights where fear and tension lived everywhere in the castle. Tom was as cold and harsh as Harry had ever imagined him and he disappeared with the future Death Eaters now more than he had ever had before.

Harry spent most of his free time with the Gryffindors just trying to regroup, to figure out his next move, if retreating was his only option. But he couldn't shake it, couldn't stop wanting Tom Riddle. Watching him. There had to be some way to show him. Someway to win him back, but how did you get someone to fall in love with you when you knew they'd tried to kill you?

Harry laughed bitterly. Tom had managed to do it to him… that's it, though Harry, suddenly bursting from his spot under the tree next to the Other Potter.

"I have to go," he said quickly then darted across the ground, back into the castle and down into the Slytherin common room.

Tom was sitting in the corner, studiously reading a book, his blue eyes flashing and pulsing with the excitement of knowledge.

"I need to speak with you alone," he said to Tom.

Tom just laughed. "Absolutely not. It's lucky I'm letting you live."

"Which just goes to prove you still care about me?" Harry whispered in parseltongue.

"No it goes to show I'd rather not go to Azkaban for a murder I'm not prepared to cover up but don't assume I'm not planning your death," he replied also in their shared language.

Harry reached into the pocket of his jacket where he'd kept it since he came here and removed the time turner. He cradled it in his hands so only Tom could see it. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Fine." Tom jumped to his feet and walked with Harry into Tom's room. "So what do you want to tell me?"

"I'm going to show you something. Something that proves I'm telling the truth about me and you."

"What would that change Harry? You think I'd suddenly want you if I knew you were from the future and sent back to kill me? What does that change?"

Harry's stomach fell. "Nothing." His wonderful plan wasn't so wonderful at all. "I still tried to kill you."

Tom crossed his arms, glaring and gave one shard nod.

"Yes, but that was before…"

"Before what?"

Harry could not believe what he was about say, what he was about to admit. He knew how wrong it could go, how it could get him tortured or killed or whatever else Tom wasn't doing to him now that he knew Harry had wanted him dead.

"Before I fell in love with you… and I know you don't believe me, but in the future you kill my parents, you try to kill me, you kill my godfather and my friend and Albus Dumbledore… well technically that was Snape, and Bellatrix and Pettigrew but they were under your orders. You're the reason I was at the Dursleys. Every scar I have on my body I have because of you."

Tom was frozen, carved from beautiful, exquiste ice, just staring back Harry.

"But still, still I am crazy, ridiculous, once-in-a-lifetime in love with you."

Tom's mouth was wide open, his whole demeanor just screamed stunned.

"I came here to kill you, but I don't want to kill you. I don't want to hurt you. I just want you. So… that's what I have to say. You can say something if you-"

There was a sharp rap on the door.

"GO AWAY!" shouted Tom.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the voice outside that sounded sort-of like Lestrange, but off kilter. "It's just… it's important."

"Well, spit it out." Tom threw open the door. Lestrange stood on the other side, his face puffy and red.

"Avery's dead."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm thinking about writing a one-shot from the POV of Tom in this fic. Let me know if you'd be interested in that. As always, leave me reviews saying what you liked, what you didn't, what you think is going to happen, what you want to happen. I love hearing from you! Thanks again!


	17. Purple

**(quick warning there is some graphic talk of and bit of visual of suicide in this chapter)**

Tom Riddle stood by his bed blank faced and blinking. Harry's mouth fell open. He could hardly believe what Lestrange had said. It could not be true. Avery could not be dead. How and why and so many questions but he could think of no answers that would be sufficient to express the sudden sickness burning inside him.

"What happened?" Tom asked, his voice unnervingly calm given the circumstances.

"I- I don't know… I mean… please, you need to… see." Lestrange sniffed then wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"Stop blubbering, Lestrange."

"Tom," Harry hissed. "Leave him alone."

Tom sent Harry a glare that struck fear through his bones.

"Show me," said Tom coldly. Lestrange nodded and Tom followed behind him. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and stepped behind Tom.

"You don't have to come see," Tom whispered.

Harry wasn't sure how to take the comment. Did he mean he didn't want Harry to come see? That he wasn't going to let Harry come see? Or was he trying to be kind? To not force Harry to see something, the truth was, he really didn't want to see. But even if Tom wouldn't admit it, he'd cared in his own twisted way for Avery, and Harry wasn't going to let him face that alone.

They walked down the dark hallway, nothing but the distance sound of echoing sobs ringing in the air, a macabre melody.

"Have you gone to the professors?" asked Harry. Lestrange looked back at him like he'd just asked the craziest question in the world.

"He came to me first. As he should."

A small sliver of light glowed from the crack in the door. Tom slowly squeaked it open, and what Harry saw made vomit burn his throat.

A rope was tied to the ceiling light fixture and wrapped around Avery's neck. His honey-colored eyes were still wide open, exactly as Harry remembered them looking up at him. The body Harry had once touched and kissed now hung limp and lifeless, almost as if it had never been anything but flesh and bones. And this.

Tom's hands balled into fists. His chest rose and then fell heavily. He turned and looked at Lestrange. "I'm going to speak with Professor Slughorn. Lestrange, make sure nobody else goes in this room until I return except Harry."

Harry's eyes locked with Tom's. "Me?"

"Go through his stuff before his parents arrive." There was such command in Tom's voice it would have been hard not to obey. Not that Harry was in disagreement with what Tom was asking him to do. He thought it an incredibly generous gesture after Tom's fight with Avery to make sure that there was no evidence of Avery's romantic entanglements for his parents to find.

Or maybe it wasn't generous at all. Maybe it was just self-preservation. Either way, Harry would still do it.

He nodded at Tom who nodded back curtly and then swept out of the room. Lestrange followed him and the door shut, leaving Harry and Avery alone.

He did the best not to look up at the boy, at his bare feet and the Slytherin tie still knotted in perfect, pureblood fashion, but how couldn't he? How could this have happened? Was it his fault? Because he'd gotten mad at Avery because he'd chosen Tom, because he'd fallen in love with Tom.

Was this because Tom had chosen Harry, had maybe fallen in love with him?

Or maybe this was all a mistake… maybe he was a dreaming. No. He was awake. So painfully awake he could hardly breathe. What about an elaborate cover up for a murder? That was it, right? Avery was murdered. He wouldn't just kill himself. He couldn't.

In any case, Harry had to get to work. Hurry through his dresser and his bookshelf and confiscate any journals or owls that could be incriminating. Harry found a few old letters Tom had written Avery. Nothing much but a time and place, but still he whispered "Incendio" and burned them. Then underneath Avery's bed, he found a box, magically locked, that Harry wasn't sure how to destroy or examine. Instead, he used a shrinking charm and stuffed it in his pocket. He and Tom could go through it later once they figured out how to get inside.

Harry found a few scribbles of his own name on pieces of folded parchment. But there wasn't much besides whatever was in that box, and certainly no suicide note. Who committed suicide and didn't give away any signs? Or leave a note.

He would have to tell Tom that he thought someone had murdered Avery… that had to be what happened. Harry could figure out who did it, they could go to Azkaban and everything would be okay again.

His eyes moved to Avery's lips. Those once beautiful pink lips he'd kissed and licked were now a light blue, and Harry felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes. Refusing to look at Avery again, Harry slipped out of the room and down the hallway.

"He's down here, professors," said Tom. Harry looked behind him to see Tom leading Dippet, Slughorn and Dumbledore toward Avery's room.

Tom's eyes focused directly on Harry. He could feel the question he was asking.

_Did you take care of it?_

Harry gave him one short nod and then slipped back into Tom's room. How could he ever sleep in his dorm room again knowing that Avery died there, just feet from his own bed?

He sat on the edge of Tom's bed. Trying to occupy his mind, his eyes scanned for the horcrux, but it was nowhere to be found. Harry reached into his pocket and removed the shrunken box. He held it in his hands, ran his fingers over the wooden surface.

Harry swished his wand and breathed "Engorgio" bringing the box to normal size again. He wrapped his arms around it and pulled it into his chest. He'd been with Avery for nearly three months. Kissing him and laughing with him and talking about classes and sometimes about Tom. But as he sat there staring down at the box, his chest ached in a way it hadn't since Dumbledore died. Like he'd missed something so obvious, so plain as day, and his blindness was their undoing.

After all that time, did he even know Avery at all? What he wanted? What he loved? What he feared? Even the little things that defined him. Harry didn't have an answer to one of those questions and it suddenly hit him like a thousand bricks dropping out of the sky.

The box fell out of his hands and onto the floor. Unable to get oxygen into his lungs, Harry slid off the edge of Tom's bed, his knees smacking the hard wood. Tears threatened but he couldn't make them come, instead he just started coughing, his chest painfully tight.

There he was. Harry Potter on his hands and knees in Tom Riddle's bedroom dry heaving and trembling. And hating, hating, hating himself for things he didn't even understand. Why did this feel like his fault? Why did it feel like a suicide and then not like a suicide?

There was one question. Just one horrible, resounding question that blared like a wild, angry trumpet in Harry's mind.

What killed Avery?

Harry's palms laid flat on the ground as coughing got worse and it felt like his insides were being torn, ripped up and out.

"Potter," whispered a voice behind him.

He froze, then sat back, and turned to see Tom standing in the doorway, the light glowing around his head like a mocking halo. He shut the door.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he said with no noticeable emotion.

Anger slammed through Harry, untamed and vicious. "Maybe you are a monster," he said through almost shut teeth.

"A monster? Not a monster? Make up your mind, darling."

Did he have to sound so heartless?

"Stop it," snarled Harry as he crawled to his feet. "You cared about Avery. You've known him for six years. He was a Death Eater."

"A what?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's what you call your followers in the future."

"Death Eater. I like it."

Harry just ignored him and kept on point. "He was something like a friend to you, you were physically intimate with him."

Tom snorted. "I was _physically intimate _with him? You can't even manage to say that we f-"

"JUST SHUT UP! Stop pretending you don't care. That it didn't bother you to see him like that. I don't care if he's been a jerk recently." Harry was nose to nose with Tom now. "I don't care if we were fighting with him or if he hurt your feelings by calling you a half blood. You petulant child! That's all you are. You act so big and tough and powerful and in the end you're too much of a coward to – " Harry was angry that he world was spinning and splitting and nothing made sense. "Or maybe_ you _killed him."

_SLAP_

Harry heard it before he felt it. He didn't know how that was possible. But it was the loudest sound he'd ever heard, a couple seconds of stunned shock, and then a sharp burning on his cheek.

"Don't you dare," hissed Tom. "I don't get to fall apart Harry. I've never had that luxury. And what good does crying on the floor do? You knew him for what? A couple months? So don't talk to me about. Don't you fucking dare."

Harry brought his fingers to his cheek, still so shocked, so stunned. He had a right to suspect Tom, but that pained look in his eye. Merlin, he hadn't done it. In his heart, Harry knew that.

"But do you think it's possible?" asked Harry.

"What?"

"That Avery didn't kill himself."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because that's just guilt and wishful thinking."

"Guilt?

Tom shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "Don't play stupid. You're not stupid. You just want it to be murder so you don't have to carry any of the blame."

"I don't feel guilty."

_Yes, I do._

"Your ex-boyfriend, or whatever he was, kills himself after you break up with him."

Harry shook his head. "That was almost a month ago, Tom."

"A month where he watched you fall in love with me," he said with a smug arrogance that would have bothered Harry more if the sentiment had not been so true.

"He's gone." Harry sighed. "Avery's gone and I didn't even know his favorite color."

There was a long pause where Tom and Harry just looked at each other, and that one look was like stretching his fingers into the whole of the universe sliced down the middle. Harry felt more naked, more intimate and more utterly torn open, in that one look than anything he'd ever felt in his life.

"Purple," said Tom. "His favorite color was purple."

Chest aching, Harry knelt down and picked up the box from Avery's room. "I found this," said Harry. "I can't get it open though."

Tom's fingers brushed his and sucked away his oxygen as Tom took the box and sat it down on the bed. He pointed his wand at the lock and muttered some incantations under his breath.

There was chilly silence and then the latch popped open and the lid drew back. Harry scooted up beside Tom so their hands were touching as he leaned to see the contents of Avery's locked box.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I've never dealt with a subject quite as dark as this, so it's new territory for me. Avery's a character that's easy to hate, but remember the guys don't hate him, and he's also just as much a person as Tom or Harry, something they never really gave too much thought to. Anyway, I hope you liked it and I'll get back to the more "personal" Tomarry stuff in the next chapters. **


	18. Avery's Box

Harry could hear Tom breathing beside him as they sat together on the edge of Tom's bed in his private, prefect room. Harry breathed in the sage scent of Tom's cologne, letting it steady him as he looked into Avery's box.

What he saw there, he didn't expect. Though he wasn't quite sure what he did expect.

There was a postcard with no words on it from the Grand Canyon in America.

A small pink stuffed bunny rabbit with a stain that looked like hot chocolate dripped down its white belly.

A deck of novelty playing cards from some place called the Good Luck Motel.

And, one scrap of paper with the lyrics to a muggle song Harry'd once heard Aunt Petunia listening to.

_You always hurt the one you love_

_The one you shouldn't hurt at all_

_You always take the sweetest rose_

_And crush it till the petals fall_

_You always break the kindest heart_

_With a hasty word you can't recall so,_

_If I broke your heart last night_

_It's because I love you most of all_

After Harry reached the parchment, he handed it to Tom who pinched the edges tightly, almost angrily.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry.

"I'm fine." Tom let out a long breath. "What is all this junk?" He tossed the parchment scrap back into the box and Harry stared down at it.

"I think it's the stuff Avery cared about most in the world."

Tom grabbed the postcard out of the box and waved it in Harry's face. "This? This stupid faded picture of some muggle American tourist attraction is nothing!"

Tom snarled then tore the postcard down the middle.

"Don't!" shouted Harry.

He tore it again and again and threw it on the floor.

"What were we even looking for in here, Harry? Tell me that. An answer to why he'd be bloody stupid enough to kill himself. If he didn't care about his own life, why should I?" Tom grabbed the box and tossed it across the room. It clattered to the ground and Harry jolted at the sound.

"First of all, Tom, we don't know for sure he killed himself. Second of all, you care because you care and so do I. It's not something we should or shouldn't do. We just care because we do."

Tom's normally pale face was a hot red; his wand was clenched in his fist. "What are we? What am I supposed to do with all of this?" He casually waved his hand toward Avery's box.

Harry shook his head and walked up behind Tom. Hands trembling, he touched Tom's shoulder.

"I think we should figure out where all of it came from, what all of it meant. We didn't know Avery when he was alive, not really, maybe what we can do for him is know him now. Maybe along the way we can find out the truth about whether or not he killed himself."

Tom slowly turned on his heels to face Harry. "No," said Tom.

"Tom, please."

"No, Harry. He's dead. He's gone… and nothing we do changes that. Or makes it right. It's not like he could possibly care."

Tom threw open the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Tom snapped.

"Why?"

"Stop asking me questions, Potter. I need you to leave me alone. We were fighting remember? Maybe you don't, but I do. You lied to me, you tried to hurt me and I don't have time for this."

Harry stepped forward, his heart beating nervously. He had almost forgotten about their fight. He needed Tom so much right now, to deal with what happened with Avery and even though Tom didn't want to admit it, he needed Harry right now too.

"Don't have time for what?" asked Harry.

"I have to go."

"Tom…"

Tom's hands gripped the doorframe. He didn't look back as he said, "You can stay in here tonight." It was such a low whisper Harry almost didn't hear it, but he did, and a part of him was thankful for it.

The door shut and Harry fell back on Tom's bed, running his hands over face. This had been in infinitely long day. He could hardly believe that only a few hours ago he'd been talking with the other Potter and Weasley. He suddenly felt the exhaustion of the long day crush down on his limbs.

He slipped out of his clothes and laid them over Tom's dresser. He was standing in only his boxers and a cold chill bit down his spine. Maybe Tom wouldn't mind if he borrowed his shirt. Oh well, even if he did Harry wasn't in the mood to care. He opened up Tom's drawer and removed a white T-shirt. Tom was taller than him so his shirt was bit too big, but Harry actually liked the larger size, the smell of Tom against his skin as he crawled under the covers and blew out the light.

As he lay in bed, he kept seeing images of Avery. Avery smiling, Avery laughing, Avery with blushed lips, red from kissing. The look of pain on his face when Harry had broken up with him, told him they were over. A part of Harry wished he could go back in time and find some sort of compromise between the three of them, but that was ridiculous and not what Harry wanted anyway. No, Harry Potter knew what he wanted – and what he wanted was Tom Riddle. Only Tom Riddle.

And that was so twisted, so sick and so true, that Harry cried himself to sleep on Tom's pillow.

He wasn't sure what time of night it was when Tom finally came back into the room. Tom didn't crawl in bed beside him though, which made a profound loneliness weigh down Harry. He hadn't moved past what happened, why Harry was here in this time at all.

Tom just curled up in the chair between the bed and the desk, wearing all of his clothes but his shoes and socks.

Harry fell back to sleep and, when he woke up again the morning Tom was already gone. He needed to get Tom to talk to him, and Harry needed to figure out the meaning of all those items in the box. It was the only way he could think of to find any closure to what happened to Avery. Maybe the only way to find the truth of it too.

When he went to gather up Avery's box and repair the postcard Tom had torn the night before, he found the box gone and the postcard repaired on Tom's desk with a note that read,

_Harry,_

_I may have made to hasty a judgment about Avery's items and what we should do with them. Meet me in the Great Hall. We'll walk to Hogsmeade together. Bring the postcard._

_Yours,_

_Tom_

Harry ran his thumb over the word 'yours' then packed the note and the postcard into the pocket of his cardigan and left Tom's room behind.

Across the hall, he saw the boy, the man, he'd fallen for sitting at a table with the other Slytherins. Tom wasn't wearing his school uniform because they were supposed to be going to Hogsmeade, just black pants and a green sweater, that brought out the blue in his eyes. Now that Harry thought about it though, the trip was certainly cancelled on account of what happened with Avery.

Tom half-smiled at Harry across the hall and, heart speeding up, he hurried over and sat down beside him.

"Hogsmeade cancelled, isn't it?" asked Harry in a low whisper.

Tom nodded. "We need to get out of the castle."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because that's the only way we're going to know why Avery held on to that old postcard."

Taking a deep breath, Harry asked, "I thought you said it didn't matter."

"Does it matter to you?"

Heat burned in Harry's cheeks. "Yes."

"Then it matters to me." Tom traced his fingers on the side of Harry's leg.

He wasn't sure what changed Tom's mind, but he'd worry about that later. For now, Tom was touching him and wanting to the find the truth about Harry. To ask for anything else would be the kind of greedy that always ends very badly.

Dippet addressed the hall about what happened to Avery and what precautions they were going to take to help students in need and how they all loved Avery (which was categorically untrue). It was funny to Harry how everyone was your friend after you died. Then a terrible thought struck his mind. What if he wasn't that different from those fake mourners? He'd been unkind to Avery, he'd been judgmental and, on his bad days, he'd even used him. Why did Dippet have to talk about this? Bring it all up again?

Harry started to shake and Tom took his hand under the table. He could feel the tension in Tom's arm, like a stone with tons of steel weight down on it.

"Just don't listen, Harry. Don't listen…" but the second time it sounded more like Tom was talking to himself.

When Dippet finally shut up, and the Great Hall doors opened, Harry shot out of his seat and out of the hall without waiting for Tom. A few moments later Tom caught up to him, his hand lying on Harry's shoulder.

Tom leaned in and, in a dark, gruff voice Harry hadn't heard in a while, said, "Do you want to forget all this as much as I do?"

Harry nodded.

"Then follow me."

He rushed behind Tom all the way into the Slytherin Common Room, past the crying students and into Tom's bedroom, but they didn't stay there. Tom dug through an old trunk and pulled out Harry's invisibility cloak.

How had he almost completely forgotten about that? Tom tossed it over his shoulder and it disappeared part of his body. In two strides, he was inches from Harry. Tom pressed his hips against Harry's.

"We'll have to be very quiet, doll. Can you do that for me?"

Harry just moaned through clenched teeth. Normally, he'd protest to being called 'doll' but right now he didn't care because Tom was so close and his hands were on his body again.

"Yes," said Harry, swallowing hard.

"Good boy."

Tom wrapped the invisibility cloak over the both of them and then took Harry's hand, squeezing it so tightly he could feel the tingles in the tips of his fingers.

"W-where are we going?" Harry whispered.

"Shh…" breathed Tom. "You'll see."

Tom led Harry outside, underneath the Whomping Willow tree. There weren't a lot of people outside but there were enough.

"You can't be serious," said Harry.

"I can," he breathed in Harry's ear. "Lie down."

Harry hesitated but did as he was told, the grass cold and damp on his back. Tom crawled on top of him, kissing his body over and over. He bit his tongue to keep quiet, to keep from begging Tom for more.

"There are people around."

"That's half the fun."

"What's the other half?"

"Let me show you."

Harry laughed quietly, but apparently not quietly enough because a Gryffindor girl… Minerva McGonagall (oh wonderful) … glanced over in their direction.

"I told you to be quiet," said Tom. "Guess I'll have to shut you up myself."

His mouth crushed down on Harry's, his tongue pressing deep in Harry's mouth. All of a sudden, he wanted to protest, wrongness creeping up inside him. How had they even decided to do this? And do it now? Avery just died, people were watching, but how could he stop it when Tom weighed so heavily on top of him, and he felt so entirely wrapped up in his elegant touches, in the way his hand slowly worked down the buttons of Harry's shirt.

He had to try.

"Tom, stop," Harry said, as Tom's hand fell down between Harry's legs and started to rub hard circles.

"You've got be joking…"

"Why'd you change your mind?"

"Because I haven't had sex in a while."

Harry pushed his hands on Tom's chest. "Not a good enough reason."

"Since when," Tom was licking Harry's neck slowly. "Do I need a reason?"

"I don't…"

Tom fell hard on Harry's body, nearly knocking the air out of him. There was something harsh, dark, in his tone as he bit down hard on Harry's ear and breathed, "Let me do this right now and I'll forgive you."

_Huh? _Harry's stomach turned. That didn't feel right, or sound right. He shouldn't be paying for his forgiveness with sex and he wasn't sure about having sex with an angry and emotionally shocked Tom Riddle, but why wasn't he saying no?

Because he wanted the forgiveness and he wanted Tom. And he wanted to forget Avery, forget his mistakes. They were supposed to be figuring out what happened to their friend, why he'd kept that strange box. Even Tom had said he'd wanted to, but had that been a lie, a lie to get him here? Or had Dippet drumming it all up again just been too much?

Tom was pulling off Harry's shirt, kissing down his chest. "Say yes, doll. Say yes to me."

_No, not now. Not when you're like this. _That's what Harry meant to say, but it just came out, "Yes."

And Tom was puling off his own shirt, and the postcard and that little pink bunny, were just fuzzy thoughts a million miles away from Harry, and the only things that existed were the whispered commands coming from Tom Riddle's mouth.

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading. They keep almost doing the healthy thing and then... nope. They really are two screwed up guys. Please review and let me know what you think about the characters, the plot, ideas or guesses for what's going to happen to next. I love your thoughts and thanks for the reviews and the follows and the favorite. You all are the best! (We'll finish up the little sex scene next chapter).**


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